


It's Always Who is Spider-Man, Never How is Spider-Man

by i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Peter Parker, Bisexual Peter Parker, Deaf Character (Temporary), Deaf Clint Barton, God wanted me dead and now you get to find out why, Harley Keener as Iron Lad, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Overpowered Peter Parker, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker has PTSD, Powerful Peter Parker, Slow Burn, Strong Peter Parker, Touch-Starved Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff & Peter Parker Friendship, also killed MJ sorry, as a treat, author is obsessed with scars and you can tell, blind character (temporary), bonding with avengers ft. peters massive guilt complex, civil war happened but tony doesn't know peter is spider-man, guys i swear i dont hate tony (or steve), he's a bi mess and so am i, i actually ship harley/orange, i guess??? this wasnt planned, i killed may oops, i sprinkled in a bit of hydra, peter "don't call me kid" parker, peter is polylingual no i dont take criticism, sorry peter, theyre just hard to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28696380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz/pseuds/i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz
Summary: "'Stay?'Peter finally looked down to see Harley Fucking Keener, Iron Lad, the boy who had caused his shoulder to be throbbing all night, looking away with a slight tint to his cheeks. Peter opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out.And he sat back down."Or: Peter has been living on the streets, dealing with your average homeless vigilante stuff. Things got a bit more complicated when the Avengers started to chase him down.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Everyone, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff & Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 571
Kudos: 1605
Collections: earth’s mightiest heroes, peter finds his way home





	1. Can Peter Please Get Some Medical Attention

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! please enjoy this flaming pile of garbage!  
> I'll include trigger warnings before every chapter, so here's the TWs for this one:  
> small mentions of child abuse/torture, mentions of character deaths

To be completely fair, Peter didn’t mean to arrive at the battle the same time the Avengers did. In fact, he usually does everything he can to avoid it. He didn’t want to have to deal with the snide remarks and the absent-minded attacks that they always sent his way. Didn't want to have to fight off two sources of attacks at once; one set of attacks coming from the guys who were supposed to be on his side, and the other from the actual enemies. And he especially didn’t want to miss the appointment he had made with the homeless shelter down in Queens. They were only serving Thanksgiving dinner from five to seven, and that was one of his favorite meals they offered. And yet, according to the giant, yet rather helpful clocks displayed on one of the glowing billboards surrounding him, the time was approaching 6:30. With the vicious way both of his enemies were attacking him, he knew he wasn’t going to get out of this any time soon. 

When he had arrived on the scene, he could hear the various expletives that accompanied his approach coming from the team of heroes on the other end of the street. 

“Howdy folks!” he immediately yelled. “Anyone wanna explain why we’re currently fighting an army of weaponized and rather overgrown Sea Monkeys?”

Much to his chagrin, he only received exasperated grumbles in response. The Avengers had been trying (and failing miserably) to get a hold of him for almost a year now. From what he could gather, SHIELD had deemed him such a _perilous_ threat that they had sent the Avengers to bring him in. Of course, by “bring him in”, they meant “beat him so far down into the ground that eventually he is so near death that you are able to take him to us so we can interrogate and perform experiments on him.” Or something. And while he couldn’t help but think that being such a high level threat to SHIELD was something of a compliment, he really didn't want to get tortured. Again. It had been a rough few years. 

Tony Stark’s order of, “Nat, handle Spider-Man, would ya?” brought Peter back to the present.

“On it,” Natasha Romanov replied. In an instant, she was at Peter’s side delivering barely-avoided kicks to his relatively (read: extremely) frail body. Since May died about a year and a half ago (Yep. Still hurt to think about.), Peter had been relatively on his own. Well, that's if you didn't count the hell that was his first and only foster home. He got out of that shit shack a little too late for comfort, but it was hard trying to develop an escape plan with his foster father, Richard, constantly breathing down his neck. Once he was on the streets, it was even harder to find a source of food for his stupid insane metabolism than it was in that house. His body and health deteriorated way too quickly for his liking, and that was before he had injuries inflicted by the Avengers to heal alongside his nightly patrol injuries. Peter’s survival was fueled purely by the need to help others (and spite of course).

Peter’s Spidey Sense was pinging like crazy, forcing him to constantly turn between Natasha and the weird-ass alien like some sick form of hokey pokey.

“You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around,” Peter mumbled, “that's what it's all about! Hey!” He delivered a particularly hard kick to the shrimp fuckhead on his final shout and sent it flying into the street, where it bounced once, twice, three times before it came to a rest and promptly shattered like broken glass. “Oh god, that is so weird why do they do that.”

The miniature version of Ironman appeared by his side in an instant, taking the place of the alien. Not much of an improvement, if Peter was honest, cause this kid had blasters. And yes, he knew Iron Lad was a kid, specifically one 17 year old named Harley Keener. He knows this because he hacked into FRIDAY, Stark’s A.I., which told him that Harley had moved into the Avengers tower close to 6 months ago from his home in Tennessee to get a better education at Midtown. Peter used to go there, before he had to run from CPS. Good times, good times. Also, because the dumbass had “Lad” in his name. If he wanted to maintain any form of a mature hero persona, he shouldn’t blatantly state that he was a literal child. C’mon, didn’t Harley learn that in _How To Be A Teenage Superhero 101_?

“I know right? Freaks me out every time,” Harley jumped in. He aimed a repulsor blast at Peter’s head, which he dodged just in time for it to only hit his right shoulder. He made no sound, despite the intense searing pain that would knock anyone else off their feet. He wasn’t allowed to show weakness.

 _At least_ , Peter thought, _this dude has a sense of humor_.

“Iron Lad,” Romanov chastised, refusing to use his real name, “we all told you to keep away from Spider-Man. You _know_ he’s dangerous.” She threw three knives at Peter in rapid succession, all but one he dodged before rolling away from her next attack. One of the knives had lodged itself into his side, and boy, was Peter not jazzed about that. He let out a quiet hiss before he composed himself, ready for the next attack. 

Harley flew to the other side of Peter so that he was fighting next to the ex-spy as he groaned, “Nat, come on! I am in a literal suit of armour. I’m fine, and I will remain so.”

Romanov rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen what he’s done to Tony’s armour. The same thing could happen to you,” she told him, saying it like it has been said a million times before. Peter smirked when he thought about how that meant they must talk about him often. That smirk stayed on his masked face as he flipped over Romanov so he could web her to the stop sign they had been fighting near. She didn't even struggle, knowing from experience that it was impossible to get out of his webbing. He turned back around to see Harley running, rather slowly might he add, towards him. Seriously, why would he run when he could just fly a little?

“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you guys?” Peter shouted over his shoulder while trying to find the weak spots in Harley’s armour that wouldn’t cause him any pain. “I don’t want to hurt any of you! _You’re_ the ones hurting _me_ .” _Wouldn’t be the first ones_ , Peter sulked. He decided to keep that one to himself.

Harley hesitated slightly before he told Peter, “We are under orders from SHIELD to bring you in.” And really, Peter was just so tired of hearing that. He jumped and spun through the air over Harley to rip out a panel on his neck, effectively powering down his suit. He quickly webbed him to the side of the building close to Romanov. He began a slow approach towards the other teen.

“And what fine lap dogs you guys are,” he sneered. “Ever think for yourselves for once? Think to notice how we are both fighting against the same villain of the week? But no, you guys have to ‘bring in’ one of the most valuable assets New York has to protect them from whatever fuckers decide to torment this godforsaken city.” Peter scoffed. “What am I saying. I’m not gonna get through to you with that dumb tin can surrounding you.” He quickly backed off of Harley, let his webs grab hold of a building across the street, and flung himself away before the boy could respond. 

Peter swung to a building where his own A.I., Karen, detected several heat signatures. He created Karen back when he was still trying to figure out the inner workings of being a random arachnid-themed superhero. He was a bit lonely at the time (still is, but that’s besides the point) because he hadn’t told anyone about his alter-ego quite yet. He made her to be a sort of confidant for him, along with actually being able to help him in battle. Karen was one of his few sources of comfort. 

“Karen, show me where my new friends are,” Peter instructed Karen.

“There are currently four heat signatures on the second floor, so I would recommend getting up there as fast as you can,” she replied.

He was already in the building. This posed an awkward question not many people think about: should he use the stairs or the elevator to get to the civilians? Like seriously, which is faster? He knows that the stairs are safer during a fire, but what about an alien invasion? He decided on the stairs, if only because of the mental image of him listening to elevator music on his way to get civilians out of a building that was bound to collapse.

Peter ran up the stairs to get to the second floor and allowed the four people he found to stick to him in any way they could. Since it was only the second floor, he figured it was easiest to just jump out one of the windows. There were yelps of shock and fear as they quickly flew through the air, but they quieted by the time he landed and sent them off to go in the opposite direction of the fight. He literally had to tell them to go the other way because he had witnessed many utterly stupid civilians run _towards_ the fight before. What grand hero complexes they had (the irony was not lost on him). Once he saw that none were coming back, he climbed up to and slipped into one of the third story windows to repeat the process.

By the time he was on the final floor, Karen had warned Peter that the structural integrity of the building was, as he had predicted, not doing so hot. He ran through the halls of the last floor, throwing anyone he saw over his shoulder. In the end, it was only three people, all of whom had apparently been watching him rush out of the building with the other civilians. Why they hadn’t made his job easier and gone down at least a floor, he didn’t know. God, people were so clueless sometimes. Since he was currently on the 10th floor of the building, he had to get down to a lower level to safely get them out of one of the windows. He all but flew down the stairs until he could feel the building shaking. He looked up to see that they were on the fifth floor. That would have to do. He jumped out of the first window he saw, and deployed one of his web bombs below him. He heard the _fwump_ that indicated it had exploded into what was essentially a huge mattress made out of webs.

They landed onto the sticky cushion and looked up to see the structural supports of the building finally give up. It slowly crumbled to the ground, and Peter heard one of the civilians he was holding onto start crying. That was pretty valid. He set them on the ground and turned to face all of them.

“Go to an open area far away from here,” he instructed, “and wait until you don't hear the tell tale sound of aliens getting their asses kicked to come back.” They all nodded, with a few grateful acknowledgements sent his way. 

Peter heaved a deep sigh, and looked at the ground surrounding the dilapidated building. There were a bunch of shattered aliens on the ground, and he startled when he saw Captain America fling yet another towards the mess. So Rogers was the demise of the poor building. Nice. Peter should have seen that coming. 

Peter reentered the fight, but it was coming to a close. There were only a few handfuls of Sea Monkeys left, and thank fuck for that. The shoulder wound from Harley was still aching, and the blood loss from, you know, being stabbed was starting to get to him as his adrenaline wore off. He really missed when his super healing was up to par. If it were, his blast wound would have been healed by now. Man, he really wished he could have made it to the Thanksgiving meal. He could do with some food right about now. He hadn’t eaten in two days, and for some completely unknown reason, that meant his super healing had taken a break. Stupid metabolism.

As Peter’s current sparring mate shattered, he looked around to see that the Avengers were quickly overpowering their own battles. That meant that in a few minutes, he was going to have to fight them all off once again. He chose instead to launch himself into the air, wary of his injuries and go “home”, home being a condemned apartment complex that he found to be a very suitable living space for him. However, as he passed the spot where Romanov and Harley should have been, there was only melted webbing. 

He landed to inspect his mess of webs, trying to ignore the rancid smell of burned webs. Stark must have come by to free his teammates. God only knows how long it took him to melt through the webs, but knowing himself and his inventions, it must have been pretty damn long. 

He once again departed the battlefield, only to be stopped not a minute later. There was a boy leaned up against the side of a building about a block down. But he knew it wasn’t just any boy. Harley Keener was slumped over, with the parts that composed his helmet on the ground next to him. He looked exhausted, and Peter didn't think that he was the one who caused that. After all, the only thing that he did was disable the weaponry on his suit. Peter landed and approached the boy silently. Harley had his eyes closed, and _oh god is he dead_ , but no, Peter could hear the boy’s pulse beating steadily. Harley didn't notice the vigilante’s presence until he was squatted right beside him. 

Harley flinched slightly, and his eyes shone with fear. The sight made Peter’s heart ache. And his shoulder. And his torso. Holy fuck he was in so much pain. But another look at Harley’s undeniably attractive face told him to push down his own pain in favor of Harley’s.

“C’mon man,” Peter chuckled quietly, “I told you I wasn't in the business of hurting people. Not really my style. I’m here to help.” Harley looked skeptical to say the least, and he still didn't say anything. So, while he waited for Harley to realize that he couldn’t help himself, Peter sat on the ground a few feet away from him.

Every now and then, Harley would shift slightly, and with that came a groan. Peter internally cursed the wounded boy because fucking hell, he was trying to help! Peter himself had cuts lining his legs from whatever weapons those Sea Monkeys had, along with a blast wound and a goddamn _knife in his side_ that he was resolutely ignoring. 

Peter sighed as he watched another bead of sweat drip down Harley’s face, despite the chill in the air. He came to a decision and slowly crept forward, with his hands held up by his face. It felt like approaching a wild animal, and it didn't hurt any less the second time Harley flinched. His hands came to a stop right above the arc reactor, and he froze. Peter didn’t want to do anything without Harley’s permission. Harley saw him as the enemy, no matter what Peter was going to do to help him. But when he looked up, a question of consent in his eyes, Harley’s face had become infinitely calmer. His eyes were still wary, but he gave a reluctant nod for Peter to remove his suit. Relief flooded Peter’s body. _Finally_.

When he tapped the arc reactor, the suit fell off Harley’s body to form a neat little box on the ground. Peter looked at the other teens body and came to the conclusion that Harley must not be very used to getting hurt. Which is fair, seeing as he was just a teenager (again, the irony is not past him). His visible injuries didn’t look that serious, just bruising on his arms. Of course, the injuries underneath his clothing could be a bit worse. 

Before he began his first-aid, he listened for the Avengers a few blocks down, and noted that they still sounded like they were fighting. There must have been more Sea Monkeys than he saw before he left. Whatever, the “Earth’s Mightiest Heroes” could handle a few more glass-like shrimp bitches. 

“Karen, run a scan,” he mumbled. He could see the confusion in Harley’s eyes before a light from his mask briefly shined on Harley’s battered body. 

“Harley has one bruised rib, a minor concussion, two minor lacerations across his torso, several small cuts on his face, and many bruises across his body,” Karen replied. Peter nodded and looked up to Harley in a silent question to take off his shirt, to which Harley nodded hesitantly. He produced a small first-aid kit he kept in his suit. Don't ask him how, a magician never reveals their secrets. He got to work.

While he was patching Harley up, Peter thought about how many times he had done so on himself. The last time was not even two days ago, from when he had to spare some of his limited sewing materials in order to stitch up a stab wound he received that night on patrol. Not a very kind gift, he must say. He was used to having to put himself back together, he had been doing so for years. His best friend, Ned, never did it because Peter didn’t let him. Peter knew it was probably traumatic to see your friends blood on your hands. Actually, it was definitely traumatic. He would know. But soon after the Homecoming Fiasco, Ned had moved away. To Colorado. And a bit after Ned left, there was… an incident. Peter couldn’t. Peter couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save MJ, couldn’t save her, didn’t make it fast enough couldn’t save her couldn’t get her blood off his hands couldn't save- May was killed in a car accident three months after MJ died. And then it was into the foster system with Peter, where he met Richard. And, well. 

Here he was, finishing the cleaning of the cuts on Harley’s face. 

Peter was thankful for the mask, because when he realized he was almost sitting on top of Harley to reach his face, all his blood immediately rushed to his cheeks. He hurriedly jumped up, an apology and goodbye on his tongue when his wrist was grabbed and he flinched on instinct. The hand was then pulled away, with a single word uttered with it.

“Stay?” 

Peter finally looked down to see Harley Fucking Keener, Iron Lad, the boy who had caused his shoulder to be throbbing all night, looking away with a slight tint to his cheeks. Peter opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out.

And he sat back down.

And they sat in silence for who knows how long. Long enough for the Avengers to finish fighting apparently, because he heard them approaching quickly, calling out Harley’s name.

Peter moved to get up again, but hesitated. Then, mindful of his own injuries, swooped down to Harley in order wrap his arms around him. The other boy froze, but before Peter could pull back to apologize, he felt arms slowly reach up and around him, and he could have cried. Scratch that, Peter totally cried. Because this was the first time he had been hugged in over a year. The first time he had non-violent physical contact in just as long. It was a breath of fresh air.

But as soon as he started the hug, Peter ended it because the yells of the Avengers were getting closer, and he knew it was time to go. So, ready to depart for what felt like the sixth time, he nodded at Harley, who just stared back with the most confused (and slightly concerned?) expression one could manage. Peter flung himself through the air and _ow ow ow shit why did I do that what the fuck holy shit I hugged him why the fuck did I hug him shit shit ow there is still a knife in my body ow_.

Peter rounded the corner of a storefront a few buildings down and watched as the hoard of Avengers surrounded Harley, bombarding him with questions and concerned badgering. But Harley ignored them and looked straight at Peter, and Peter held his gaze once more, before he swung away in the cold November night.


	2. A Retelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. thank you guys so much for the love? i freaked out every time i got a comment or kudos so <3  
> we deserve a bit of Harley POV yeah?  
> TWs: Peter does a bit of Bad surgery on himself in the beginning, its only graphic for like 2 sentences

If there’s one thing that Peter has learned during his time of superheroing, it’s that you never take the thing that stabbed you out of your body. Duh. Blood loss is a bitch, and Peter didn’t especially favor it. However, that meant there’s always a chance of his skin healing around the offending object. As he landed on the roof of his home and slipped in through the fire escape, he cursed his irrational super healing. He hasn’t eaten in days, yet it decides to work when he doesn’t want it to. Since he was stabbed by Romanov several hours ago, the skin around the admittedly cool-looking knife was well into the healing process. He could have definitely done without that, because now he had to put one of his previously collected knives to use. It’s times like these where he wanted to murder that damn spider that bit him. Well, bring it back to life first, and kill it again. Might as well practice a bit of necromancy, right?

He grabbed a relatively small knife from the corner of the room he was in. This room was what he called the “Avoiding Death Room”. It used to be the “In Which Peter Suddenly Becomes a Doctor Room”, but that doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. Also, Peter probably had enough medical experience to be a doctor at this point. Anyway, the room is where he kept all of his first-aid supplies. He had several half-used kits, and a few new ones as well. There was a bowl full of tap water he acquired from the bathroom of a bakery across the street, along with several water bottles from the homeless shelter. One was for washing the blood off his body, one for hydration. In the corner, there was a collection of knives that people had so kindly gifted him laying on a towel he may or may not have stolen from the laundry mat. It was his surgery station, and it was where Peter was carefully slicing away at the skin surrounding the blade. He breathed deeply and evenly, which was the only sort of pain medication that he had. Not only could he not afford any form of medication, none of it fucking worked. Stupid. Metabolism. 

Peter grimaced as he haphazardly removed enough freshly-healed skin for him to dislodge the knife. This process was always fucking disgusting (and painful as shit), but he didn't have any other options. He tossed it out the window because he knew there was a dumpster right below it. It wouldn’t end too well if he missed one day, he imagined. On the other hand, this was Queens. People should expect that sort of thing. For the first time that evening, Peter let out a hoarse shout in pain as he pulled the knife out. He had another Romanov Knife to add to his collection. Peter grabbed an old rag (he didn't _want_ to steal from people’s laundry, but it was either that or bleeding out) and rushed to staunch the fresh flow of blood. He let out a few quiet whimpers as he struggled to reach his bottle of antiseptic. It was a bit harder to acquire, but also quite the step up from the vodka he had been using for months. Peter doused his side with the antiseptic, and a tear slipped down his cheek silently. 

This is the part of being a vigilante most people didn't see, or even consider. As he stitched up the laceration, he couldn't help but wish he had accepted help while he could. May was a nurse, she could have helped if he ever revealed his identity to her. Ned and MJ couldn’t help him, but it might have been nice to not be alone. The back of his mind whispered that he could always go to Daredevil, a.k.a. Matt Murdock, for help. But the majority of him knew that he couldn't. Matt didn't even know he ever left his foster home. He might have his suspicions, but Peter knew that if he revealed that he was so weak he couldn’t even handle Richard, Matt might leave him. He couldn’t have his last person leave him, his only source of comfort besides Karen. No, he couldn’t get help from Matt. He had to be strong. 

Peter didn't realize that growing up meant losing the majority of his friends, all of his family, and having enough trauma to support the weight of the world, but whatever. 

He ripped the string he was using to sew himself back together, threw it and his needle near the knives, and promptly passed out. 

-

Harley sat in silence on the Quinjet. He could feel everyone’s worried eyes on him, but he waved them all off. To be completely honest, he was in shock. Spider-Man _helped_ him. What the fuck. 

_Spider-Man hugged him_.

Harley often prided himself on being fairly observant, and thought he could figure most things out for himself. But he simply could not wrap his mind around the fact that not only did the man act as his nurse, he had _hugged_ him. 

Harley thought he deserved another What The Fuck.

He thought back to their fight. Spider-Man was right, he hadn’t hurt Harley at all. The most damage he saw the vigilante inflict on Nat was knocking her down so she couldn't punch his throat. On the other hand, the damage against Spider-Man was immense. Harley himself gave him a pretty hefty shoulder wound, and Nat stabbed him and most likely did a lot of damage to his ribs. Even when the man had both Harley and Nat webbed up, he did nothing except share a few harsh truths. And yes, Harley knew they were true. He didn’t even like SHIELD, but when your family follows them, it’s more than implied that you have to do the same. 

By the time Tony came by to get him and Nat out of their binds, Harley had decided that he regretted fighting with Spider-Man. His family could still work to bring him in, that was their decision. But Harley wasn’t going to hurt the vigilante again. Especially not after what happened when Harley was put out of commission. 

Tony had helped Harley power his suit back on, and then left to go back to the team. Harley made to follow, but was immediately knocked off his feet by a random alien. Except maybe this alien wasn’t so random, because it was slightly larger than its friends, and was tinted red, unlike the clear form that the others took on. Harley rushed to fly over to the new guy, but the fucker had other plans. The thing’s tail, which thus far had not been in use, quickly whipped around and slapped Harley out of the air. He was launched into one of the buildings several blocks away, where his short battle met a rather embarrassing end. His head hit the wall, and he blacked out.

When he awoke, the pounding in his skull prompted him to remove his helmet. He took a second to get his bearings, before he remembered why he was sitting against this building in the first place. Harley frantically looked around for the weird red alien thing, but he couldn't find it. He figured that his teammates would handle it, and he chose to rest his eyes. 

That didn't last long though, because he soon felt a presence right beside him. He opened his eyes and he immediately startled.

Spider-Man. 

He had to force himself to remember that he had decided not to hurt the vigilante. It's not like he could anyway. He could feel a deep ache set into his bones, and his suit was most likely out of commission. 

The guy looked pretty roughed up. His suit was torn where Harley’s blast hit him, and it was stained red where he still had a knife in his side. From his waist down, there were many small rips in his suit where blood was dripping out. He had probably seen better days. Said vigilante was talking to him. 

Spider-Man was trying to convince him that he was here to help. Harley wanted to believe him, he truly did. But there’s a difference between not wanting to harm someone and trusting them. At the moment, he couldn’t trust the man.

Spidey appeared to realize this, and chose to lower himself carefully onto the ground off to Harley’s side. For some reason, Harley was grateful. He was in pain, with a man he didn’t trust (stranger danger), and yet it felt better than being alone. When he turned oh-so slightly, he let out a soft groan. Apparently, wounds on his stomach had decided to announce their existence. Harley guessed they were from the sharp pieces of his broken armour that were currently poking at his stomach. Huh. Maybe his suit wasn’t as safe as he made it out to be.

Suddenly he heard a sigh, and looked up to see Spider-Man slowly getting up. He raised his hands, and Harley flinched because hey, an enemy’s raised hands usually indicates a strike, right? But it turned out that Harley was wrong, because the other man froze, leaving his hands where they were, and then gently maneuvered his body towards Harley. Harley honestly didn't know what his plan was. Was Spider-Man going to attack? He guessed no because of his calm approach, and his history of, you know, never attacking. Maybe the masked face would prove to be truly kind and take pity on his battered body. Spidey’s hands coming to a stop inches away from his arc reactor generator proved the latter theory correct. He was waiting for permission. Therefore, when the white eyes of the masked face looked up to him in a silent question, he gave a mute affirmation.

Spider-Man immediately deactivated the suit and pulled a first-aid kit out of god knows where. Harley heard the man mutter to himself, and was shocked when a bright light seemed to scan him. Did the vigilante have his own A.I.? FRIDAY could do that sort of thing. Damn, this dude had to be smart. Harley was slightly less hesitant when he allowed the other to remove his shirt.

His temporary nurse’s hands were steady as he methodically put bruise cream on the marks covering his body. He held no hesitation in his form when he pulled out some antiseptic and bandages for Harley’s stomach injuries. His posture was sure when he performed the standard checks for the state of his ribs and head. All of these things remained true as he absent-mindedly climbed onto Harley’s lap to clean several small scrapes on his face.

Harley choked.

But he decided to cut Spider-Man some slack because despite his confident and sure way he was nursing Harley, the teen knew the vigilante’s mind was elsewhere. In fact, it may have been the robotic way he moved that pointed to that. 

That and the fact that as soon as he realized the compromising position he had put himself in, Spidey’s eyes on his mask widened and jumped off of Harley. 

Before he could get too far or say anything, though, Harley’s hand flew up to grab onto the hero’s (hero’s?) wrist. He regretted doing so when the other man shuddered a violent flinch, and he quickly removed his hand. He averted his eyes as he spoke for the first time in this interaction.

“Stay?”

Harley didn't know what it was, but the hero’s presence was comforting. And he was only a little ashamed to admit that he was afraid to be alone again. Relief flooded his body when he saw the man settler back down in his peripheral. 

Harley guessed that they must have been sitting there for about 10 minutes when the vigilante became tense. He tilted his head slightly in the direction of where Harley knew the battle had been taking place. If he had to guess, that meant that his family was making their way over here. He was proven correct when he heard a very faint yell for his name about 30 seconds later. Spider-Man had gotten up again, this time his posture not as sure. He stood for a few seconds, before suddenly gathering Harley in a hug. 

_What the fuck?_

Before Spidey could pull himself away, Harley slowly brought his arms up to wrap around the man’s body. He was extremely tense, and when Harley made contact, he could feel the hero’s body shake minutely. Was that a sniffle? Was the vigilante _crying_? Harley immediately grew immensely concerned for the man. Who hugs a stranger, and then cries?

But then the hug ended when Spidey pulled back with a nod, and flung himself away just as Harley saw the Avengers approaching. They ran to him, all clamoring to help; Tony started asking about his suit, Steve was asking about his injuries, Nat interrogated him about Spider-Man, and Sam and Clint were trying to lighten the mood with a few cracks about how he missed most of the battle.

But Harley ignored them all in favor of staring at the vigilante around the corner, who gave him one final look before he vanished. 

Harley shook his head, and staggered to his feet. Tony rushed to help him, but the teen waved him off. Spider-Man may not have given him any pain medication, but just having his wounds cleaned helped a bit. Plus, it was a lot easier to walk without his suit on. He bent down to pick up the box that was his suit, and started the trek back to the Quinjet. His family seemed to have accepted his silence, and they just walked with him. 

Currently, the jet was landing on top of the tower, and Harley rushed to depart. He didn’t feel like dealing with the anticipated interrogation quite yet, he could do that tomorrow. He rushed to his room, where he was able to finally examine his suit. It was dented and had sharp pieces sticking out in inconvenient places, so Harley knew he would have to work on it tomorrow as well. Right now though, he was just unbelievably tired. It was so inconvenient for aliens to attack on Thanksgiving.

He let himself flop onto his bed, his final thoughts before unconsciousness occupied by Spider-Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the shorter chapter but it was the only was i could get it to flow :// chapter 3 is where the plot picks up a bit more so i'm trying to make it longer! kudos and comments appreciated <3


	3. What If, Peter Wanted Rest, But the Avengers Said, No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again,, thank you guys for the love n support. y'all are amazing.  
> TWs: peter has a panic attack, it starts soon after his second POV begins. also some mentions of torture. stay safe!

Peter was, as the kids say, making his way downtown. Or really, to Matt’s apartment. Today was Sunday, which Matt always tried to take off in order to attend Mass. Therefore, Peter tries to make his visits on Sunday to make sure he gets his Matt Time in. If not on Sunday, then he usually barges into Matt’s law firm and annoys him. When he does that, the man makes Peter do some work, which is fine. Peter would do it without him asking. Thing is, Matt makes him use his copies of the papers, which are in braille. The first time Peter was put to work in Matt’s office, he explained that he couldn’t read braille.

“Then learn,” Matt had told him. 

And so he did. Submersion technique and all that. When he went to the public library, he googled braille studies and whatnot. And of course, he made Matt answer a lot of his questions. Matt needed his paperwork done correctly, after all.

Peter passed the bakery across the street, and the smell of fresh bread reached his nose. God, he was hungry. He had already spent his begging-money on new first-aid kits because he gets hurt more often than he eats. He would have to go without food for a little while longer, and deal with a few more injuries than usual. First-aid kits last longer than food anyway. Peter’s got his priorities straight, thank you very much.

He was approaching this block’s tourist trap when he heard a scream. It was fairly distant, but definitely there. Sometimes Peter did some patrolling during the day, and it looked like today was going to be one of those days. Peter heard the same woman scream again, and decided Matt would have to wait.

Peter used his Spidey Sense to watch out for security cameras as he made his way into an empty alleyway. He cared about his identity, dammit. He took his suit out of his backpack before webbing the bag to the wall behind the alley’s dumpster. He pulled on his suit with ease, seeing as all of his wounds from Thursday’s battle had since healed. They left scars, as they always did, but they weren’t his worst ones. Definitely not his worst.

Peter could say he was rather proud of his suit. Contrary to what the newspapers believed, his suit was not produced by Stark. The man _had_ given him a new suit when he intercepted Peter on patrol (way back when the Avengers’ “Civil War” was happening), Peter just didn’t think it had the same charm as his own. Also, spite. The teen already had Karen in his mask, and he had put a lot of work into it. He did have to revamp it a bit in order to be on his best game at the battle Stark brought him to, but that process was simple. He managed to recreate some basic nanotech, and infused it into the workings of his suit. He had to ditch the hoodie, along with his goggles. In the end, he had to improve a lot of things, but it was still his own work.

He took note of exactly what street he was on before he left the alleyway so he could come back for his backpack. He started swinging in the direction of the scream he had heard, hoping he would get there in time, wherever “there” was. Luckily (or unluckily?), Peter heard the scream once more, and went in the For Sure direction of it. He approached a warehouse (why does the bad shit always happen in warehouses) as he slowed to a stop. 

“I detect four heat signatures, one of which seems armed” Karen told him before he could ask.

Peter listened to all of their heartbeats, and determined that none of them were enhanced. He couldn’t hear any speaking, which was weird, but he decided to roll with it. Only one of them was armed, and Peter figured it was unlikely to be a sniper since there appeared to be only one victim. That meant that there was a large chance that all of them were on the ground level. Therefore, he thought the best approach would be to enter through the actual entrance, rather than any windows. That way, he would be able to get to the attackers quickly. He jumped off his current roof and landed in front of the double doors.

He swung open the doors, yelling, “Now, don’t you th-”

Peter was cut off by the loudest fucking screech he had ever heard in his life. At the same time, rows and rows of huge LED lights clicked on.

 _Fuck_.

Peter immediately dropped to his knees, screaming. His hands reached up to claw at his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut but that didn’t have an effect because he could still feel the burning from the lights and he could feel his ears start to bleed and the blood was dripping down his face but god he could definitely still hear the sound and he could definitely still feel the burning in his eyes and he’s never felt pain like this before this was the worst thing he’s ever felt and his knees gave out and his face hit the ground and he didn’t even know if he was still screaming and he wanted to cover his eyes but he couldn’t remove his hands from his ears and _fuck this hurt_ \- 

Peter passed out. 

-

They watched as he started to scream. They watched as he tried to claw at his ears through his mask. They watched as he fell to his knees. They watched as his face hit the ground. They watched as his voice went hoarse, and then became a whisper. They watched as he went limp.

That was the goal, but damn if it wasn’t horrific to see. 

Natasha snapped out of her stupor first, and rushed to click off the controls. She turned to face her teammates as they shook themselves off. She pulled out the earbuds she was wearing and took off her sunglasses, seeing the others do the same. Clint put his hearing aids back in. 

“That was… intense,” Clint whispered, afraid to break the silence. 

Tony nodded as Sam slowly approached the body that was laying on the warehouse floor. Natasha followed him, standing behind Sam as he knelt down to tap the vigilante's head a bit. When there was no reaction, he checked the man’s pulse, which was beating steadily, if not faster than he expected. 

“He’s out cold,” he reported to Tony and Clint as they crept closer. 

“As predicted,” Tony reminded them. “We should probably get him loaded onto the jet so we can head back.”

“We should probably call Bruce, too, right?” Clint spoke up. “Spidey doesn’t look too good at the moment.” Bruce always said he was “not that kind of doctor”, but he was still the team’s resident doctor. If things ever get too bad for Bruce to handle, then Dr. Cho is to be called in. 

“I’ll call him to let him know that we’re coming back with an unconscious Spider-Man,” Nat said as she started to walk back to the jet. “Sam, will you carry him?”

“There’s no way I could carry him by myself,” Sam chuckled, already moving to pick the man up. “Hey dude, do you think you could-” Sam cut himself off when he picked up the vigilante with ease. 

Clint startled a little, being on his way to help Sam. “That’s, uh, probably not the best.”

“We can worry about it later,” dismissed Tony. “Right now, I just want to get back to the tower.”

“I'm way ahead of you,” Natasha called from the Quinjet. “Seriously guys, what’s taking so long?”

After two calls of “Sorry Nat”, the men hopped onto the jet, and deposited the unconscious body. They laid him out on a row of seats, and Sam and Tony sat across him. Clint switched places with Natasha so that he was piloting instead. Spider-Man had yet to move at all.

This time, Tony was the first one to break the silence. “So should we uh, take off his mask? For educational purposes.”

Immediately, Nat shut down the idea. “At the very least, we should wait until we’re with the whole team,” she explained. “Maybe when Bruce looks him over.”

“Are we gonna hand him over to SHIELD once we look him over?” Sam asked her. 

“I’d like to ask him a few questions before we do.”

The rest of the flight to the tower was quiet. No one quite knew what to do with themselves now that they finally had Spider-Man. It had taken them way too long to figure out what the best way to capture him would be. Steve had pointed out his obvious super-hearing, claiming it had to be better than his own. He suggested that they utilize that strength, and turn it into a weakness. If the vigilante’s senses were stimulated enough, then his defenses would be considerably lowered. The team would consist of Tony, Nat, Clint, and Sam. None of them were enhanced, like Steve and Bucky were, so they wouldn’t be harmed in the process. Wanda, like usual, had opted to stay out of it. She had never been one for the attempts at capturing Spider-Man. Vision would stay with her. Bruce would stay back as well, seeing as he seldom came on missions unless it was absolutely necessary. Rhodey was in D.C., and Harley was with some of his friends from school. 

The plan went smoothly. They found a good warehouse to use near where they knew Spider-Man was often out and about. Tony got his hands on a bunch of high intensity discharge lamps, along with as many speakers that could fit within the box where Spider-Man would be trapped in. The team was to remain outside of the box in order to have some protection from the noise. They also wore earplugs and sunglasses just in case. Clint opted not to wear any ear protection, claiming that his deafness offered him a good amount of protection. Natasha was to be the bait because she had some experience playing the victim while doing undercover work. Nat was also the only one with an actual weapon, just in case the plan didn't unfold smoothly. She also never went anywhere without one, so it worked out.

They just didn’t expect Spider-Man to go down so easily. He screamed for almost two minutes before they saw him collapse. If they had just figured out this method earlier on, they could have avoided months and months of humiliating defeats. 

At least it was over now. The jet landed on the roof of the tower where Bruce was waiting for them. He had a stretcher by his side.

“I don't really think that’ll be necessary, Bruce,” Sam explained as he walked off the jet, Spider-Man in arms. 

Bruce warily eyed the body. “Well, I have it here anyway, might as well give your arms a break. God, he should not be that light,” he muttered the last part under his breath. 

Sam laid Spider-Man on the stretcher, and the team began the trek back to Medbay. The vigilante still hadn’t moved at all, which was starting to be concerning. All they did was overload his senses a bit, so why was he still completely knocked out? Whatever. It’s not like they wanted him to wake up too soon anyway.

When they arrived at Medbay, Sam dismissed himself to let the rest of the Avengers know that Spider-Man was in custody. Tony opted to wait in his lab and work on a few projects. He asked FRIDAY to pull up some designs for a shield upgrade for Steve as he left the room. That left Bruce, Nat, and Clint alone with the vigilante.

Bruce cleared his throat. “So since you guys used his senses against him, I’ll start with checking his ears and eyes,” he told the ex-spies. He slowly approached the unconscious man, and set his hands on the mask. He looked up at the two others, who were watching with anticipation (Nat still had a neutral face, but she was creeping closer). Bruce looked back down at the man, and peeled the mask off his face.

Three gasps were heard in the otherwise silent room.

Bruce backed away from the man, _no_ , boy.

That was a teenager.

“What the actual fuck,” Clint let out.

Natasha slowly recoiled from the bed, a haunted look in her eyes. 

Laying on the bed, dressed in the oh-so recognizable red and blue costume, was a battered up teenager. His cheeks were sunken in, his face pale and tear-stained. Dark bags resided underneath his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. His lips were chapped, with cracks in them that showed hints of dried blood. His dirty and unkempt brown hair was almost past his ears. His ears- 

Well, his ears had a long trail of blood dripping out of them.

“ _Shit_ ,” Bruce hissed as he rushed forward, pulling a wet towel out of nowhere. “Shit shit shit shit _shit_!” He quickly wiped the blood from Spider-Man’s ears.

As soon as the towel hit the boy’s face, he shifted. Bruce stilled, as did the fidgeting Clint. The boy’s breathing began to pick up as he worked himself out of unconsciousness. His eyes flew open.

-

Peter had no idea where he was. He gathered that he was laying down on a bed. Why would he be in a bed? He hasn’t slept in a bed for over a year. Also, he was blind.

He couldn’t hear, either. 

Well, to be fair, neither of those statements were completely true. He could _technically_ see, but the only things that occupied his eyesight were unidentifiable blobs of different shapes and shades of grey. He squinted, as if it would help him out at all. It did not. It was mostly black, though, hence the term “blind”. As for his hearing, it was a constant ringing. Not to mention, his skull felt like it had been split into two.

Safe to say, Peter was Definitely Not Panicking.

He was calm, cool, and collected. He was Spider-Man, and Spider-Man didn't fold under pressure. Spider-Man didn’t freak out because he was apparently deaf and blind now. No siree. Spider-Man definitely was NOT flipping the fuck out right now. Spider-Man was not having a panic attack.

_Wait-_

Shit, Peter was having a panic attack. No, he was dying, he was dying because his lungs had apparently shrunk and he couldn't get a full breath in. He tried looking around to figure out how to not die, but that only sent him spiraling further into this godforsaken doom. He couldn't _see._ He couldn’t breathe either. Why? He felt a weight on his chest, yeah that’s why he couldn’t breathe. There was something on his chest. What was it? Why couldn’t he breathe? Oh, it was a warehouse. _Shit, it was a warehouse._ There was a warehouse on top of him, oh god he couldn’t lift it. He couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t lift it. There’s a building on top of him, and he couldn’t breathe and holy fuck. He couldn’t see the wreckage, couldn’t hear the constant dripping of water, but that was because he _couldn’t hear or see at all._ Peter flailed out, hoping to escape the rubble, when his arm came into contact with something.

Someone?

Yeah, that was a person. Why was a person underneath the rubble with him? He had to get them out, it was dangerous under here, he-

The person took hold of his hand and squeezed. And squeezed again. And they kept squeezing. The pressure on his hands slowly became more demanding than the pressure on his chest. He… he wasn’t under a building. He was with someone. And he was on a bed. And he was still deaf and blind. Ok. Right. No big deal. Matt was blind, Peter could do blind. Wait, but Matt had his hearing. How… Peter had to communicate with his captors somehow. 

Peter’s heart ached with the memory of MJ convincing him to learn sign language with her. He had readily agreed, wanting to spend more time with her. It couldn’t hurt to add another language to his list of fluency. They both picked it up quickly, and soon it became one of their methods of communication. The uses ranged from wanting to silently talk in class to when one of them went nonverbal during a panic attack. 

He’s still fluent in ASL, but he couldn’t see the response. Hold on. Peter dredged up another memory, this one from middle school. His class had learned about Helen Keller, who learned to communicate by feeling things, including gestures. He might be able to do that? He figured if one of this captors was able to help him out of a panic attack, then they might help him communicate.

 _Let’s hope one of these fools knows ASL,_ he thought as he took a shaky breath, _because I sure as hell don’t trust myself to talk._

-

Bruce was holding the panicking teen’s hand in attempts to calm him down, and it seemed that it worked. They learned quickly that he could neither hear nor see him, the glaze over his eyes and blood trailing from his ears pointing to that. His breathing had increased speed and shortness until he reached the stage of hyperventilating within 30 seconds. After five agonizing minutes of trying to calm the boy, Bruce had come within close enough proximity to be hit with one of the boy’s flailing arms. Despite his obvious poor condition, the teen packed quite the punch. Bruce stumbled before he latched onto the vigilante’s hand, enclosing it in his own. He squeezed it, and only then did the teen begin to calm down. It was a long process, about 10 minutes of squeezing before his hand was shaken away. The three heroes were all looking at the boy with rapt attention as he raised his shaky hands. 

He started to sign to them.

Clint was fluent in sign language for his own sake, and Nat knew it so that she could relieve some pressure from Clint while communicating. Sam knew a small amount, but he was the only other person on the team who spoke it. It was slightly a surprise that the teen in front of them knew it as well, but really, what did they know about him?

“ _Who are you_ ,” the boy signed, before holding out his hand, palm up, pointing at it.

Clint knew what that meant. He was supposed to allow the boy to feel his signs as he finger spelled. It was a technique often used in the deaf and blind community that many deaf people adopted in order to communicate in the dark. He himself had used it multiple times with Nat during missions, or even just in dark rooms, when he didn’t have his hearing aids.

He gently set his hand in the waiting palm, and spelled out “ _A-V-E-N-G-E-R-S”_. Clint flinched back when he heard a loud groan coming from the boy, who began to sign again. 

“ _What the fuck did you do to me?_ ”

Clint took on a guilty expression as he began the long process of telling the teen that they used his senses against him and captured him. Spidey became more distressed as Clint went on. He reached up to touch his face.

“ _Where’s my mask?”_

Clint translated to Bruce, who then took the mask off of the counter and handed it to Clint. Clint explained that they had taken it off in order to give him a check up. The teen scoffed. The way he acted made him seem calm, but Clint could see that he was practically vibrating with nerves. His breaths were still not quite even.

“ _I’ll heal. Why am I not at SHIELD right now?”_ he asked.

Clint furrowed his eyebrows, and restated that they were making sure he wasn’t too badly hurt. He paused, looking up at Nat, and asked her if he could tell the boy that she wanted to ask him questions. She gave permission, and Clint translated to the teen. 

“ _Well obviously, I’m pretty badly hurt. But as I said, I’ll heal on my own. I always have. Tell Black Widow that she should get on with her questions. No guarantees that I’ll answer.”_

Natasha rolled her eyes, she could get him to answer if he didn’t give up information willingly. She stepped in Clint’s place, set her hand on the teen’s palm, and asked for his name.

“ _No.”_

She expected that, and asked him again, to which his answer was the same. She then made it clear that she had the means to get anything she wanted out of him. Again, the boy scoffed. 

“ _What, you mean torture? Been there, done that,”_ the teen signed. Nat’s face twitched, and her eyes took on the haunted expression once more. 

Clint gasped, mumbling, “Who… but he’s so young.” 

Bruce, who had been resigned to the fact that he wasn’t a part of the conversation, jumped in with, “What? What did he say?”

“He said that he’s been tortured before,” Nat told him over her shoulder. She hesitated, then said, “I believe him.”

Before she could resume asking Spider-Man questions, she heard the door opening. The rest of the team had apparently decided to make their entrance, Steve leading the way. 

“Hey, Sam said you caught…” Steve trailed off.

“Is that a fucking _child_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha! The Reveal! so i know i've been uploading daily, but that was because i finished the first two chapters before i posted the first one, and already started the third. i'll be a bit busy these coming days, but i'll try to get the next chapter up whenever i can! comments and kudos appreciated <3


	4. Good Luck With All the POV Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for the love <3  
> Peter's gonna need the avengers to get off his back  
> TWs: small mentions of past trauma, some talk about not being able to afford food. this chapter is very mild so those warnings may be unnecessary

It was a testament to how shocked the group of heroes were that none of them jokingly hissed a “language!” in response to the profanity. They all stood stock-still, until they, too, began to interrogate Spider-Man. Questions of his age, his identity, his family, and of his abilities overlapped each other. When the teen did nothing other than a slight head tilt their way, Clint jumped in. 

“Guys, he can’t hear or see right now,” he explained with an undercurrent of guilt in his tone. “We may have gone a bit overboard in our methods of bringing him in. We’re talking to him with sign language.”

“Well, not all of us can understand that,” Steve reminded him. “How will he know what he’s saying?”

Tony looked up from the boy to Steve. “You know FRIDAY can interpret sign language, right?” he asked the man. “She’s got cameras everywhere, so she can see the signs.”

“Indeed I do, boss. I suppose you would like me to interpret what Spider-Man is saying?” the A.I.’s voice rang out through the room.

“Please and thank you, baby girl.”

  
-

Peter knew that more people had entered the room. His Sense had alerted him with a slight buzz at the base of his skull. This buzz was different from the “bro, there’s about to be a pipe lodged in your torso” buzz. This was the “stay alert man, someone’s coming” buzz. He didn't know what the Avengers were talking about, but soon enough he felt the feminine hand fall back into his palm. Romanov, then. He was getting pretty good at using his general brainpower and remaining senses to help him out. He shivered at the contact, his nerves buzzing with sensitivity. All she was doing was resting her hand in his palm, but it just felt so _good._ A familiar yet foreign feeling from ages ago. Romanov began spelling.

_“A-G-E”_

Oh, Peter knew that one! He signed that he was 17, and waited a few moments to let the group get over their shock. He just knew that the heroes would disapprove of his youth, but they could suck it because he’s been doing this for three years. He felt no reason to lie to the Avengers about the harmless facts about him. In fact, he was aiming to be as truthful as possible. Hell, maybe it’ll be nice to actually talk to someone.

He felt the hand that he was holding begin to spell again, this time asking about his abilities. Peter debated how truthful he should be. Or rather, how petty he was going to be. He determined he was going to be an annoying ass to them. It’s about time. 

-

Natasha admitted that she might’ve been too harsh on the boy. Because that’s what he was, she reminded herself. A boy. She had been fully expecting to be dealing with an adult this afternoon, but she should have also expected this plan to go completely haywire. She had threatened a teenager, a teenager whom she had apparently inflicted many injuries upon. Yeah, she felt bad. Her threat might’ve worked on anyone else, but the teen had decided to throw an absolute curveball at her. Tortured? That added a check to the list of things pointing to a tragic backstory. 

Nat decided to turn the conversation away from his name, because she felt like she wasn’t getting that information willingly. She wasn’t shocked about the boy’s age, but she sensed nearly everyone around her tense, so she diverted their attention again. She was curious about his abilities, so she decided to ask him about what he could do. He started signing after a moment of apparent deliberation.

“ _I have a good enough healing ability to recover from a stab wound within a few days.”_

_Dammit._

Nat cursed her past self. She didn’t expect any of the knives to land, really. She had seen the vigilante’s extreme agility in action, and she had figured that at best, one would scrape him. But she supposed that the wound to his shoulder that he acquired just seconds before she attacked had weakened him. 

Clint’s voice came from where he was standing behind her chair asking, “Did you stab him?” She could tell he wasn’t trying to accuse her of anything. 

“Yes, I did,” she sighed. “We were trying to bring him in, so I was doing my part by trying to incapacitate him.”

“Wait, ‘were’?” Steve questioned. “Did we just decide to not bring him in?”

They all turned to glare at him. 

“Come on man, he’s 17!” Sam chastised. 

“We should at least figure out if he’s actually a risk before we make any decisions to disobey SHIELD,” Steve suggested.

Wanda spoke up for the first time, saying quietly, “We should have done that from the beginning, right?” Wanda had always been against bringing Spidey to SHIELD. She had confided in Nat that the whole situation hit too close to home for her, reminding her of her past with HYDRA. She didn’t like the idea of depositing someone who appeared innocent to an organization who might cause him harm.

“You’re right, Wanda,” Nat told her. “We should have questioned SHIELD a bit more before this whole thing started.” She had heard what the vigilante told Harley once he webbed the two of them up, and now, she couldn't help but think he was right.

They were all pretty disappointed in themselves. And sure, it was a bit late for that, but they could still stop future harm to the teen. The teen who had just been laying there the entire time, still waiting for the next question. Oops.

Nat hesitated, before spelling out _“A-R-E Y-O-U O-K”._

Spider-Man looked genuinely shocked, which she supposed was fair, seeing as she had threatened him just several minutes beforehand. His eyes took on a teary sheen for some reason. He closed his eyes for a moment before responding. When he opened them again, they had reverted back to the emotionless mask that had been there before. 

“ _I mean, I would be better if I had a bit of food in me. Didn’t eat yesterday or today, and I’ve got a stupid fast metabolism.”_

Nat looked up after FRIDAY was done translating, and gestured for someone to grab him a bite to eat. Sam readily volunteered, seeing as he was the team’s resident cook. They tried to alternate who cooked when, but they all knew Sam was the best at it. Once he left the room, Nat told the teen that food was coming soon. After he gave his thanks, she asked him why he didn’t eat. Purely for interrogation purposes. Not that she was concerned about the teen in any way. Again, he wavered before answering. She could see the internal conflict in his unseeing eyes about how much he should reveal to them. 

“ _I’m poor. Not all of us have a billionaire to fund our food supply.”_

She allowed a wince to cross her features. She knew he was right, the Avengers were fortunate to be able to afford the amount of money it takes to feed two enhanced metabolisms, along with the rest of the team. There were plenty more vigilantes in New York, and most definitely even more enhanced people who just weren't utilizing their powers. There were bound to be many people who couldn’t keep up with their metabolisms, and apparently Spider-Man was one of them. 

Nat needed to get back on task. They had to determine that Spider-Man was 100 percent not a bad person in order to disobey SHIELD. She knew that she would be one of the ones who had to deal with Fury once he found out, but that was a problem for another day. So far, it was looking like that had been harming this teenager for nothing. Like the vigilante had always said. God, why couldn't they have looked into this more? Too late now, they’ve already done the damage. Maybe they could rebuild their image of being nice people if they proved that they wouldn’t harm him anymore. 

She signed to him that they needed to prove that he wasn’t a threat. He asked why. That was fair, seeing as it was a complete 180 from where they had been just several hours ago. She looked back up to the group still surrounding the hospital bed. 

“Should we tell him that we might not bring him in?” Nat asked them.

“It would give us a chance to sort of prove ourselves to him,” Sam commented.

“Yeah,” Steve interrupted, “but are we really serious about just giving up a year's worth of work? I mean, what if SHIELD is right about this? What if this guy really is a threat?” Steve really seemed hung up about disobeying SHIELD. And to tell the truth, so was Natasha. On one hand, they were the organization that provided her with a new life after leaving the Red Room. On the other, they seemed to be pretty fucking wrong about this. Spider-Man was a teenager, a poor and most likely deeply traumatized one at that. 

“Like I told Spidey, we would need a way to truly know he's not dangerous,” Nat reminded him. 

“How do you suggest we do that?” he asked. And alright, that’s where she was stumped. Other than this boy’s word, they had no evidence. Fury would kill them all if they just let him go based on their gut. As she was trying to work it out, Tony cleared his throat.

“Purely spit-balling here,” he started, “but what if Wanda investigated a bit in his mind?”

-

Peter was getting tired of waiting all the time. Romanov would ask one weird question, then go silent for a good few minutes. It was getting annoying, especially when he knew there was a conversation going on about him and he couldn't hear it. Well, he was getting a little better. Maybe. His vision hadn’t improved, but the ringing in his ears had gone down ever so slightly. Although that might’ve been wishful thinking. Maybe he could manifest it if he did some ritual asking for his hearing back. Sucks that he wasn’t a witch. Sometimes MJ would do that kind of stuff. Leaving water and crystals out under the moon, that sort of thing. Peter thought it was cool, but he didn't partake in it himself. Maybe if he did, this shit wouldn’t happen to him. Anyway. At least he knew his senses would return a bit faster once he got food. Obviously, his super healing worked more consistently when he was able to support his metabolism a little bit more. 

That was another thing he thought was weird. Why were the Avengers feeding him? He was definitely sure that they all hated him, like it was an undisputed fact. But then Romanov asked if he was okay, and he’ll admit it, he was shaken. They had been absolute bitches to him for almost a whole year, and now they just… weren’t? God, Peter was confused. He wanted to hate them, but deep down he knew he couldn’t really hate anyone. Well, there were a few exceptions, but the damage that the Avengers did to him was nothing compared to some of the shit he’s been through. Alright, not gonna think about those people. Even though Peter couldn’t really hate these heroes, he was fine with “strongly disliking”. Because dammit, Peter was angry. These guys had beaten him around for ages, never listening to a word he said the entire time. Yet now, because he was fairly incapacitated, he had to _behave._ And during this time, they had completely changed their strategy. Did they have a game, giving Peter this food and asking about his well being? Were they not aware that they had caused a good amount of his current problems? 

Peter wondered if Harley was in the room with them. No reason, honest. It’s just. Was he involved in Peter's capture? After how he fixed him up the other day? Stayed when he was asked to? He figured that might have been a bonding moment. That fight was the first time they’ve ever interacted, and the only thing Harley did was blast him a lil’. Sure that sucked, but it’s whatever. Harley didn’t seem too bad, and maybe he trusted Peter a little bit now. That would be kind of cool, to have an ally. If he ever got out of here, that is. Speaking of which, he felt a hand once more. 

It wasn’t Romanov this time though, it was Barton. He kind of missed him, seeing as Peter didn’t associate the man with an interrogation. Barton was a lot more hesitant with his signing this time, and fuck, now Peter knew why.

Seriously? Using the team’s resident witch (witches were still cool, but maybe less so soon enough) was the only way they could think of proving him innocent? To be fair, Peter gave them a shit load of gratitude for trying not to turn him in. Still completely fucking weird, but hey, he wasn’t complaining. Ok maybe he was a little bit, because they waited to change their minds until _now?_ They couldn’t have realized that they were being stupid several months ago? It took a fucking face reveal for them to reconsider? Damn. 

Back to Maximoff. He had never fought her, and to be completely honest, he didn't know why. She was obviously the Avengers’ most powerful member (maybe besides Vision? Though Peter had never fought him either), so why didn’t they use her? Well, ok. He _had_ fought her, but that was at the airport, and it was fairly brief. And it wasn’t like she had really targeted him. Anyway, he didn’t count that. Maybe she was never in the field with him because the team didn’t trust her? God, who knows. But they _really_ wanted her involved this time. 

Barton had explained that in order to have some solid-ish proof that he was Good, they thought it might be a good idea to let Maximoff have a go at it. And why they thought that was a good idea, he didn’t know. This was his _mind_ they were talking about. There’s usually a bunch of shit going on in there. A lot of which related to his identity. Didn’t seem like such a good idea to him. He told Barton so.

The man apparently agreed. Odd. But he said they truly did not have _any_ other ideas. Which was fucking stupid, if Peter was honest. These were the goddamn Avengers, for chrissake. But then, Peter couldn’t really think of a way to truly prove that he wasn’t a good person, either. There was video evidence of him getting cats out of trees, or of him stopping a bus load of people from crashing into a building. But all that could be considered either a cover-up, or just more evidence pointing to the fact that he was powerful. He supposed that was bad. And it's not like he could get anyone to vouch for him, seeing as that wasn’t really dependable. But just because Peter couldn’t think of anything else, doesn’t mean he had to like it, or even approve of the idea in the slightest. 

Barton started signing again, evidently realizing they had to explain themselves a bit more. This was going to take a while. Apparently, he was translating what Maximoff was saying. She didn’t like the idea either. She had a bad past with infiltrating people’s minds, and didn’t want to do it without him allowing her. She apparently hadn’t been fighting him because she didn’t believe that he was a criminal. Which. Holy fuck. That was pretty sick, Peter must admit. That was an option? Man, Peter was glad Maximoff had a bit of decency. Perhaps, maybe, he wouldn’t mind her so much. He could try to strike up a deal with the Avengers.

 _“Ok,”_ he signed, _“I need to make a deal with Ms. Maximoff. I doubt I’ll be able to hide information about my identity from her, so she’ll know all about me and more. She has to promise to keep that shit to herself. Ms. Maximoff, please just give them confirmation that I’m a nice guy. It’s your own word, so maybe they’ll believe you.”_

A few seconds of silence.

_“D-E-A-L.”_

Nice.

Hold up, hasn’t Sam been gone a while? He kinda wanted to eat before his privacy was invaded.

-

Harley had spent his last day of Thanksgiving break at his friend’s house because he was getting slightly exhausted with his family. That happens, even when your family is the Avengers. Especially when your family is the Avengers. 

After a few hours of video games with his friends, he figured it was about time to head home. Harley had left the tower in the first place because the Avengers started talking about another plan to capture Spider-Man. He had left the room shortly after they began. He didn't really care for thinking about the fact that the man would eventually be caught. Because this can’t go on forever, can it? It’s one (albeit very powerful) vigilante against most of the best heroes in New York. It was taking a while, but the hero would be caught someday. Harley knew he had no say in what happened during Spidey’s capture, but maybe he could discourage them from taking the man to SHIELD. Maybe he could suggest Spider living at the tower under the team’s supervision? That seemed like a valid idea. He would figure out how to bring it up to them once he got home. He was almost done with his walk back from his friend’s house. 

Harley went around to the back of the tower to enter through the hidden door saved for the residents of the building. He didn’t even need a key card back there, FRIDAY just did a face scan and a voice recognition check. He entered, and decided to head up to the kitchen on the main floor. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so he hoped to find a snack of some sort. 

What he did find was an anxious looking Sam moving about in the kitchen. Now, that was actually pretty common, because Sam was a Stress Chef™. What was Sam worried about this time though? Had something happened to one of the team members while out on the Spidey mission? If something _did_ happen and it was because of the vigilante, then Harley might have to throw hands. 

“Something wrong, Sam?” the teen asked. Sam jolted and he turned to address Harley.

“They got Spider-Man,” a hint of wariness in his voice, “and apparently, he’s a teenager.”

_What._

“What?”

“Spider-Man is 17,” Sam reiterated. “He may also be blind and deaf. Currently.”

“He’s _what?_ ”

“Dude, do I have to repeat literally everything? Spider-Man is a teenager who is blind and deaf at the moment because we captured him by overloading his senses.”

“That sounds extremely stupid, but I suppose it worked. Why aren’t you down there with him? Is everyone else down there?”

“I was sent to grab him some food,” Sam explained. “Said he hadn’t eaten in about a day, and if I had to guess, he might recover faster if he had some food in him.”

“That makes sense. Can I go down to see him too?” Harley implored. He definitely wanted to see and thank the ~~man~~ teen who had helped him. And he wanted to apologize for injuring him. The hero at least deserved that.

“Well…” Sam hesitated.

“Come on man, I’ve fought the guy before. Can’t I see who it is? I think I’ll survive.”

“Got me there,” Sam relented. “Lemme just finish up this sandwich real quick, and I’ll take you down to Medbay with me.”

“Nice!” Harley hissed. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hush up and open the elevator for me, will ya?”

Harley rushed to do so, and jumped in while he waited for Sam to enter as well. He was holding a rather large plate of food, including two sandwiches that were loaded with turkey and cheese, at least three protein bars, some asparagus, a bag of chips, and two chocolate chip cookies. He was holding a bottle of Gatorade between his arm and his chest. 

“Enhanced metabolism?” Harley guessed, rocking his weight back and forth.

“Most likely,” Sam affirmed.

They stood in anticipation for the few seconds it took for FRIDAY to deliver them to the Medbay. Harley was filled with nervous energy. He didn’t expect Spider-Man to be caught so soon after their last encounter with him, but he apparently paid the price. Also, how the fuck was Spidey 17? Hadn’t he been doing the hero gig for at least a year before SHIELD wanted him? Sure, Harley was 17 too, but he had the Avengers on his side. Besides, he had only started being Iron Lad a few months ago. How long had Spider-Man been Spider-Man? How long had he been dealing with burglars and murderers and rapists by himself? How did he have enough experience to nurse Harley with ease? His youth was definitely concerning. 

Sam led the way to Spidey’s room, and waited for Harley to open the door for him. The man walked inside, Harley following. Indeed, there was a crowd of Avengers surrounding the vigilante, so Harley couldn’t get a good look. They all turned to look at who entered, a few shooting questioning glances towards Harley. Sam ignored them, and split the sea of people to maneuver his way to the hospital bed. Sam handed the food to Nat, who was standing behind Clint. Clint sat in a chair next to the bed, and it looked like he was allowing Spider-Man to feel what he was doing with his hand. Harley’s eyes slowly roamed up the body of the vigilante. The teen was skinnier than he remembered. Harley reached the teen’s face and-

Oh.

Was Harley crazy, or was Spider-Man hot as all shit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the other main character is back! congrats, me. fun fact: I added Nat's perspective in this mostly because I got a comment talk about how she was being really cruel and I totally didn't mean to make her the enemy so I tried to redeem her a bit. but I read all my comments and work to appeal to their wishes so if you guys wanna see anything happen then there's a chance I could work it into the story! school's a bitch, so I don't know when next chapter will be out. comments and kudos appreciated <3


	5. Privacy Invasion Squad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3 i am back,,, sorry for the longer wait!!!  
> my beta reader liked this so hopefully you guys do too  
> TWs: more food talk, a memory of a past character death

Harley immediately cursed himself for thinking that. The boy on the bed was in extremely poor condition, and all Harley could think about was if the hero was interested in men. Wow, Harley, way to be insensitive. Don't get him wrong, Spider-Man was definitely gorgeous, it just may not be the very first thing someone noticed about him. Everything about Spidey screamed unhealthy. The vigilante’s stomach was concave in a way Harley had never noticed before. His face was gaunt, cheeks hollow, definitely a sign of malnutrition. There were blood stains running down his jaw. Probably from his ears, Harley guessed. The teen’s unseeing eyes were pretty unnerving. The boy was simply looking straight ahead, with no evidence of actually being present other than the way his hands moved around Clint’s signing hand.

Harley was more than slightly ashamed to admit he didn’t know sign language. He had been wanting to learn for a while with hopes of surprising Clint. He had just been pushing it off, and it showed when he couldn't decipher what Clint was telling Spider-Man. By the blank looks of the others in the room, Harley figured he wasn’t the only one. He watched carefully as Clint finally stopped signing, and the teen raised his hands to respond. Harley startled when he heard FRIDAY’s voice ring out while the teen was signing. 

“Ms. Maximoff can do her thing after I eat, if that’s alright with her,” the A.I. interpreted. Harley didn't know she could do that, actually. He had never heard the feature used before, but it was coming in handy now. 

As Natasha set the tray of food on the boy’s lap, FRIDAY continued, “And would anyone like to tell me who just entered the room?”

Clint raised an eyebrow, turning around to face Harley. He nodded at him, and turned back around to sign to the teen in the bed. The room was silent, as FRIDAY didn’t interpret what Clint was saying, and it seemed that all of the Avengers were dwelling in their own thoughts. Harley knew them well enough to notice that the look in their eyes resembled looks of concern and guilt. He would be shocked if they felt anything other than that. They beat up a fucking _teenager._ For a _year._ It’s not like they would have done so if they knew Spider-Man was a kid, but jesus christ, man. They caused him so much pain that they made him both blind and deaf. Harley isn’t crazy right? That’s pretty shitty. His internal rant was interrupted by FRIDAY’s interpretation.

“I could sense more people come in. Part of my powers. Also, don’t be offended when I don’t eat all of this. This is an insane amount of food.”

Sam spoke up, “Wait, I thought he said he had a wild metabolism?”

Clint must have started to sign the same thing to the teen, because he responded, “I told you guys I haven't eaten in a while. That’s a pretty consistent thing in my life. I don’t know what’ll happen if I eat more than a sandwich or two.”

“If his stomach has shrunk,” Bruce began, “then it would be impossible to eat his recommended amount of food without feeling extreme nausea. But a shrunken stomach only comes after ages of not eating the appropriate amount of food…” he trailed off, looking specifically at Spider-Man’s concave stomach. Bruce shook his head. “Clint, tell him to eat just one of the sandwiches, and see how he feels after.”

The teen did as instructed, and reported that he could probably eat a little more before he got fully sick. 

“Are you sure that your metabolism is enhanced?” Steve asked, doubt lacing his voice. Clint rolled his eyes, but translated to Spidey anyway.

The hero let out a scoff, saying, “Of course I’m sure. I used to eat more than I eat now, and even that wasn't nearly able to satisfy my appetite.”

“Tell him that no one here is judging him, Clint,” Bruce intercepted. “See if he can eat a protein bar.”

He did, and then immediately pushed his tray away. “That was probably my limit for now,” the vigilante told the group. “That was a lot of food though, thank you.”

Even Harley, who was not enhanced whatsoever, could eat quite a bit more than what the super-powered teen just ate. They were going to have to work on that. That is, if he could get his family to not turn him in. Speaking of which, Harley decided it was time to share his thoughts. 

“Hey guys,” he tentatively said, “we aren’t taking him to SHIELD, are we?”

A chorus of rejections rang out, including the so-far silent Bucky. Huh. Interesting. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard. However, Harley noticed that Steve hadn’t said anything. 

“Steve?” he directed the people’s attention to the man. 

“Guys, we still have to follow through with the plan,” Steve reminded the team. “He said he wanted to eat and then we could do it.” 

“Wait, what plan?” Harley questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. He thought there was just the one where they, y’know, cause extreme damage to Spidey’s maybe most important senses.

Wanda was the one who answered him. “He gave his consent for me to check his mind,” she explained. “I’ll have to report whether or not we can trust him before we can go against SHIELD.”

“And why would he trust you?”

“Because I never fought him,” Wanda told him indignantly. Harley thought back, trying to remember if that was always the case. In his six months of being with the Avengers, he couldn’t think of a time Wanda went out to capture Spider-Man. Sure, that was only half of the time they spent trying to bring him in, but Harley doubted Wanda would just stop. He nodded at her. 

“If he’s not going to eat anymore, then we may as well get this over with,” Nat suggested. Nat’s suggestions were usually not actual _suggestions._

Wanda nodded, and took a deep breath as she stepped closer to the bed. Clint began signing. 

-

To be completely honest, Peter was already feeling a bit sick after his sandwich. But _god_ he wanted some food. So he figured the well-fed people in the room didn’t have to know that tiny little detail. And perhaps some of his sickness was a result from the anxiety thrumming through his veins at the thought of someone being in his head. Out of all the Avengers he knew were in the room, Ms. Maximoff might have been the one he liked the most. Maybe he’ll add a bit of Dr. Banner and Harley in there as well. Peter never fought the witch or the Hulk, so kudos to them, and Harley had only fought him once. That was fine. If his life were perfect, he wouldn't have battled it out with him at all. But it sucks to suck, he supposed.

But yeah. Even if Ms. Maximoff seemed alright, she was still gonna be diggin in his brain. It’ll be a goldmine of extremely personal information. He’ll just have to rely on her word to not share that stuff with the class. God, he was stupid. But according to Barton, he was going to have to go with it if he wanted to avoid SHIELD. Realistically though, were the Avengers actually going to let him go? Highly doubtful. Peter well and truly did not know their plan. If he could fucking _hear_ , he would. He was so out of the goddamn loop. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s _fine._ He ate a whole sandwich and a tasteless bar, that was going to give his healing a boost. It’s fine. Peter’s fine guys, he swears. 

Oh-ho! Barton interrupted his self reassurances to tell him Ms. Maximoff was up. Alright. Ok. Barton said that Peter might have to see some of his own memories as the witch looked through his mind a bit. That was the gist of it at least. And oh _boy,_ this wasn’t going to be good. Maybe Ms. Maximoff would only see the happy ones. There was a chance, right? He had plenty of happy memories. May making them baked pasta for dinner, and burning the ever-loving fuck out of it. Ned ranting about how cool Han Solo was while they built a Lego Millennium Falcon. MJ inviting him to her house to watch true crime shows. Ben taking him to a Mets game. Building his first pair of web shooters. Faint memories of his mother’s angelic voice singing an Italian lullaby. 

Yeah. He could do this. 

Barton started to count down.

_5._

May taking time out of her work schedule to show up to parent-teacher conferences. May and him watching _Say Yes to the Dress,_ laughing at the idiocy of the brides, yet still marveling at their beauty. May helping him get ready for Homecoming. May coming into his room at night when she got off work to say goodnight, no matter the time.

_4._

Ned and him fanboying about Captain America when they first met. Ned and him working on a drone for the middle school science fair. Ned shedding a few tears every time they watched _Up_ together. Spending hours making up and perfecting their handshake.

_3._

MJ telling him that he liked her, before letting him know that she was free that Friday to go to a Thai place a few blocks from her house. MJ standing there with open arms when he sneaked into her room after a hard patrol. MJ taking him to human rights protests of all kinds. MJ defending Peter after Flash’s snide remarks. MJ giving him permission to practice braiding her hair.

_2._

Ben hanging up any form of art Peter made on the cluttered fridge door. Ben buying him an Ironman mask before they went to the Stark Expo. Ben succeeding in making all forms of Italian dishes, laughing as he teasingly rubbed it in May’s face. Ben getting him a set of quality art supplies for his birthday that he must have saved up for for ages. Always being able to find Ben in a worn and stained blue rocking chair, reading any book he could get his hands on. 

_1._

Free-falling for the first time as Spider-Man. Programming Karen, not even hesitating before naming her after the robot from _SpongeBob._ Getting a small girl’s cat out of a tree, and her running up to hug his legs as a thanks. Petting every homeless dog he could find while out on patrol. His first team up with Daredevil, who then told him that he was going to train Peter in basic self defense. 

All happy memories. 

Peter felt something overtake his mind, a sizzling sensation taking the place of any previous thoughts. His mind went blank, and with it, a message was projected through his skull.

_“I'm sorry.”_

Colors flashed behind his closed eyelids, and suddenly he was looking out across a sea of fiery plane wreckage. He spotted the shiny tip of a mechanical wing. 

_Shit._

-

_Deep breaths, Wanda. Deep breaths. Don’t hurt him._

She was knelt next to the teen’s bed, her hands coaxing her magic into his mind. First things first: she needed to apologize. She didn’t want to do this, that’s for sure. She hadn’t looked into people’s minds much since Ultron, the action racking her with guilt. Occasionally some of her teammates would ask her to calm their minds after an especially bad nightmare, but that was about it. If they needed to get information out of someone, Nat was always up for the job. No need for Wanda’s powers. She sighed, and pushed the message into the canvas of his mind. In and out, Wanda. 

A memory popped up quickly. Wanda was faced with what appeared to be a crashed plane. Did Spider-Man do this? She looked around for the red and blue costumed teen. She spotted him collapsed on the beach near part of the plane’s wings, groaning. He started to sit up, but quickly maneuvered backwards when someone approached him. Another person? A victim? No, this guy had weaponry. Wings resembling Sam’s protruded from a machine on the man's back. Before Wanda could blink, The man charged at the vigilante, using some type of claws to slam him into the ground. Woah, okay. This guy sucked. The hero had his mask off, he was very obviously a teenager. This man ignored that, and continued to repeatedly attack him, pushing the boy’s body deeper into the sand. Wanda didn't want to watch this, it was probably a form of torture. She manipulated the memory, going forward until she saw the knockoff Falcon start to fly off with a crate. The boy shouted out a warning, but the man apparently ignored it as he crashed back to the sand, his wings exploding. Wanda could have laughed. Spider-Man did _not_ do that, instead choosing to run over to save the madman. What was wrong with this kid? Oh, wait, look at that. He saved him. He’s putting a note on him? Get closer, Wanda. What does the note say… oh. He left him for the police. “Sorry about your plane”? Whose plane? Is that Happy? Happy’s there… so is that Stark’s plane? Oh. Stark’s plane crashed. Spider-Man did that, but it looked like it wasn’t really his fault, more likely the bird guy’s fault. Okay. 

Time to dig a bit more, she supposed. She didn’t want to have to watch the boy get pummeled again, so she would have to purposefully look for a good memory. Ah, there. He was with a girl. This was the first time she’s seen him in civvies, actually, and it just made him look so much younger. Or, more his age, she supposed. They were laughing, looking at the girl’s sketchbook. Wanda looked as well, and noticed it contained mostly portraits. A lot of them were of the boy, actually. Said boy groaned.

“MJ, why do you draw me like I’m always freaked out?” 

The girl, MJ, responded, “Dude, you’re always freaked out. I just draw what I observe.”

The boy groaned again, falling back onto the bed, hands covering his face. MJ snickered. 

“Peter, don’t mope,” she chuckled. “It’s not a diss.”

_Peter._

Spider-Man’s name was Peter. 

That… reminded Wanda a bit of her brother. Pietro. Peter. She knew something about the vigilante put her off a bit. The way they interacted with others was so similar, always teasing, trying to make people feel better. That hurt. She forced herself to focus on the memory again, ignoring the burning sensation in her nose and the tears welling up in her eyes. 

“If you don't get that pout off your face,” MJ continued, “I’ll have to draw it.”

The teen - Peter - shot up, a mock-serious look on his face. “Ok, ok. I was just joking, no need to threaten me with murder.”

Wanda chuckled. She thoroughly enjoyed the way they interacted, care-free and used to each other. It was almost like they were-

MJ laughed as she pulled Peter back down. She gave him a small kiss on the nose before burrowing her head into the crook of his neck.

a couple.

The odd part about this memory is that while it was ultimately happy, Wanda could feel an underlying sense of melancholy. What was that about? Peter’s brain seemed to immediately respond to her question.

Flashes of a memory flew by Wanda’s eyes. They weren’t complete thoughts, instead rushed and somewhat distorted. MJ’s smiling face. Peter dropping her off somewhere. Peter smiling as he walked down the street. A gunshot. The run back to where MJ last was. Her body now laying on the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood.

_Oh._

_О ні. Не Петро._

Wanda could feel tears dripping down her cheeks. She didn’t mean to find this. She just wanted to know if they could trust Spider-Man. She could feel Peter’s anguish coursing through her. It washed over her like she was dunking her head in a pool, and keeping it there. This was not the first loss he has felt, either. She could sense it. 

She cleared his mind of all other memories, leaving it a blank slate. She put all her energy into transmitting her message to Peter.

_“My friend, it was not your fault. I feel your pain. My comfort for your loss, Peter. I will leave now, I had no intention of seeing that.”_

She ripped herself away from his mind, and was brought back to reality. She opened her eyes to see, through her own watery eyes, that Peter had quiet tears running down his face. Seeing that made her start to cry all over. She caused his memory to resurface, and witnessed the trauma he had probably wanted to keep to himself. Dammit, Wanda. In and out, remember? What ever happened to that?

She could feel her teammates eyes on her. She slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder to see them. Their perturbed faces held concern, and she hoped not just for herself. 

Wanda ran over everything she had learned about Spider-Man, setting aside her feelings for a moment. His name was Peter. He had the opportunity to leave a man for dead, yet he did not, even after the man was about to do the same. He had a girlfriend named MJ. MJ was presumably dead, and Peter had not been able to help in time. His entire being was filled with constant guilt and pain and despair, yet he held himself to the responsibility to always help others.

“He’s good,” she quietly gasped out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanda speaks ukrainian! translation is "Oh no. Not Peter." (courtesy of google translate)  
> uh. yeah guys sorry about MJ. shooo uh hopefully that wasn't pure shit! there will be more Peter POV once he heals, but it's kinda hard to write it when he doesn't know what's going on in the room. again, school is putting me through the wringer so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. comments and kudos appreciated <3


	6. You've Got a Friend in Me Type Beat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> haha Peter pov goes brrrr  
> TWs: self harm (scratching)- i put asterisks around that paragraph so that you can skip if you want. there's a talk of scars, it's near the end and once you see the word "scars" you can skip that paragraph, then the conversation at the end is based around self harm and past suicide attempts. the last few lines of dialogue are fine. stay safe <3

“‘He’s good’?” Steve repeated. “That’s it? Wanda, you’re crying. What happened in there?”

“I said he’s _good,_ Steve,” Wanda huffed. She lifted her hands to swipe at the tears on her face, but they were soon replaced with fresh ones. “We agreed that I wouldn’t talk about what I saw, so I’m not. Do you not trust me?”

Steve grimaced. “Of course I trust you. It’s just… why are you crying?”

“He’s crying too, Steve! Do you not see that? I saw a painful memory, that’s all.”

Vision came towards her slightly. He hadn’t spoken at all yet, simply standing by the door. “It’s alright, Wanda. What matters is that we can trust him, yes?”

Wanda let out a breath. “Yes. We can trust him.”

Someone cleared their throat. “If you guys are done,” a hoarse voice began, “I would like to know what time it is.”

-

Of _course_ his mind would betray him like that. Sure, just show the nice Avenger all your trauma, why don’t ya? It’s not like-

_Wait._

Peter heard voices. Incredibly muffled voices, sure, but voices. Holy shit, how long was he under? The only thing that Peter knew was that his internal clock told him it’s been quite a few hours since he had set out to find Matt this morning. Ok, that was a bit after 10 a.m., Peter guessed. That meant he was captured less than 30 minutes later. Who knows how long he was unconscious for after that. Then he woke up, and struggled through an interrogation for a while. That event must have been several hours long, because hey, finger spelling conversations is tedious as hell. Who knew? And during that time, Peter had slowly been coming to his senses. Infinitesimal, barely noticeable changes in his hearing and eyesight. It was hardly anything, so Peter ignored it easily. He had a meal (he was unsure whether it was linner or dinner), and then he got a visit from Ms. Maximoff. How long did that take? Time may be a construct, but it was still important in order to analyze the rate of his super healing. Peter tuned back into the conversation, straining to understand what was happening. 

“-are you crying?” a male’s voice floated towards Peter’s ears. It sounded like he was underwater, maybe with earplugs in as well. Peter had never experienced that feeling, so maybe that was an unfair comparison.

“He’s crying too, Steve!” That was a woman. Peter assumed that the “he” she was referring to was himself. Aw, hell, did that mean he was crying? Damn. He had hoped to not do that in front of the Avengers. “Do you not see that? I saw a painful memory, that’s all.” And understatement, but a fair assessment. He had _really_ not wanted Ms. Maximoff to see that shit. Oh, yeah, that meant it was Ms. Maximoff who was talking. And… that meant that she might be crying. Dammit Peter. Go ahead and sign off for me. 

Another man’s voice filtered in, saying, “It’s alright, Wanda. What matters is that we can trust him, yes?” Right. Moment of truth. Was it all for nothing? Maybe Ms. Maximoff was scared off by the plane crash. He kinda fucked up there, but what else was he supposed to do? It’s not like he could have let it crash into the city. But… he _was_ the one who let Toomes get to that point in the first place. No, no. He did all that he could, and maybe Ms. Maximoff would understand that. But there was also the, uh, the death. Did she think that was his fault? Peter wouldn’t blame her, it was totally his fault. He didn’t pull the trigger, sure, but if he had just been faster, if he had just stayed slightly longer, then… Too late now. Hopefully Ms. Maximoff won’t hold it against him that much. 

“Yes. We can trust him,” the woman declared. 

Oh? Oh. Oh! That meant he didn't have to be sent to SHIELD, right? Holy shit, Ms. Maximoff was on his side! Ok, ok. Cool cool cool cool. That was so sick. Another 10 points to Maximoff. 

Maybe now would be a good time to speak up. Peter wasn’t used to signing all the time, and he had been doing so for hours. He kind of missed using his voice, especially considering how often he used it as Spider-Man. He assumed that he probably would not be able to hear his voice amazingly well, so he just hoped it wouldn’t be uncomfortably loud on the others’ ears. If it was, they could deal with it. 

He cleared his throat, and hurried to get his say in before they started talking again. “If you guys are done, I would like to know what time it is.”

His words were followed by silence. Unless the Avengers were whispering. That would be kind of mean of them.

A few more seconds passed, and a male’s voice questioned, “Spider-Man?”

“No, it’s the gingerbread man.”

The room erupted. Peter had no fucking idea what these fools were saying; all of their muted voices were overlapping, and he couldn’t pick just one to focus on. Safe to say, he got a bit overwhelmed. This was the most sound he's heard in hours, and while it was still muffled by that god-awful ringing, it was still a few steps up from the plain ol’ ringing. He resisted the urge to cover his ears, and instead crossed his arms. He tucked his hands in between his torso and arm, so he could hide his fidgeting fingers. Peter planned on ignoring all of that for now, thank you.

When they must have realized that Peter was still silent, they slowly quieted down.

“I can barely hear, idiots,” he told them. “Only one of you talk at a time, and try to talk above your normal speaking level.”

It was quiet once more, before the same voice who asked if he was Spider-Man spoke up again. “You, uh, said you wanted to know what time it is?” The voice was fairly close, so based off of that and his previous interactions with the Avengers, he guessed it was Barton. Greatest deductive mind of the century, comrades.

“Yeah man, time flies when you can’t see a clock.”

If Barton laughed, Peter didn't hear it. “It’s getting close to 10.” 

Peter gave a sharp exhale. Sheesh, the whole kidnapping thing took up his entire day. Kinda sucked. And he really didn’t know when he’ll be able to see Matt now. Who knows what the Avengers will want to do with him. 

“Pretty near quitting time, yeah?” Peter hoped that his implication of “can I please sleep” was clear enough.

There was a hesitation, then a, “Well…”

Peter groaned, “Didn’t Ms. Maximoff say that I’m all clear?” 

“She did,” Barton assured, and Peter could picture him holding out his hands as if to calm him, “but I’m not quite sure we should leave you alone.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, hoping it would convey his thoughts. What was he going to do, escape? Still missing 1.5 senses, so that would be a fairly difficult task. Wreak havoc? Would a Trusted Vigilante™ do that? (He’s pretty damn close to it, but probably no havoc-wreaking tonight.)

This time, a woman’s voice answered, and Peter was quickly able to figure out that it was Romanov. She just had a recognizable prowess. “Because if SHIELD finds out that we had you, then simply released you? They would have our heads.”

Peter sighed. It kinda made sense. “Ok, then what’s the plan?” 

It went quiet once more. Maybe people were talking, just not loud enough for him to hear. Or they might have been farther away. Peter wouldn’t know. 

Another new voice. “So, uh, what if you just stayed here? Under the supervision of the Avengers?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me, or telling me?” he challenged. 

“Kind of both,” the voice told him. “It just doesn’t seem fair if we make you a prisoner here, but it’s also the best we can think of right now.”

“Alright. Um. Who are you?” Peter could sense the familiarity of the voice, but he wasn’t able to identify the speaker as easily as he had everyone else so far.

“Right, sorry,” the guy sputtered. “Harley. Um, Keener. Harley Keener.”

Peter’s mind blanked. Right. Harley. Cool. He had forgotten the other teen was there. Did Harley suggest the idea of him staying at the tower? It didn’t sound too bad, to be honest. Sure, he would want to avoid the Avengers (still a bit uncomfortable with them, if he was being honest. He’s gotten some pretty bad scars from the heroes), but it was a place to live. And it had heating, as well as running water. And maybe he could eat more. And maybe have an actual bed to sleep on. So yeah, it sounded like a bit of an upgrade from his dilapidated apartment complex. Plus, it’s not like all residents of the tower caused him grief. Ms. Maximoff keeps getting better and better, and Peter would be lying if he didn't want to get to know Harley a bit more. It might be nice to have friends close to his age again. That is, if he didn’t fuck it all up again.

Right. What if Peter fucks this all up? He had a track record of Fucking Things Up. Any sort of relationship he's ever had - platonic, romantic, or familial - has gone down the drain. Exceptions being Matt, who couldn’t die to save his life, and Ned, who would probably be chill with reconnecting at some point. Peter had to lose his phone so no one could track it, and since he hasn’t been able to get a new one, Ned and him haven’t talked in a hot sec. But everyone else? All of his family? MJ? Whatever was going on with Liz Allen? Down. The. Drain. Because of Peter. Who’s to say the same thing won’t happen with these people? God, what if one of them dies? Parker Luck means that there’s always a chance that will happen. Maybe it’s not worth staying here. Peter could probably escape soon enough. He could just-

*** He felt blood dribble onto his fingers. Peter suddenly became aware of the burning sensation in his inner elbow. Dammit, he accidentally broke skin. He felt for the bit of exposed skin, and got more blood on his fingers. There must have been a rip in his suit there, which provided an area for his fingers to work. Maybe he should start wearing actual gloves, instead of his current fingerless gloves. They don't even look cool, man. Peter’s brain goes think think, and his fingers go scratch scratch. ***

It was a predictable predicament, and the action was enough to pull him out of his spiral. These were the Avengers he was talking about. They could (probably) protect themselves if Parker Luck became an issue. It’ll be fine. (Tell that to everyone else who was faced with Parker Luck, Peter. See what they have to say.)

Peter ended up shrugging. “Ok,” was all he said.

“‘Ok’, what?” Harley asked. Yeah, he was probably furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Ok, that arrangement works. I can stay here, and you guys can watch over me.”

Before anyone could say anything else, yet another new person spoke. Except this voice was the easiest to identify. 

“Great!” Stark exclaimed. “If that’s all settled, should you call your mom or something to say you’re not coming home tonight?”

The question was inevitable, but Peter still had to resist the urge to wince. “I, uh, I don't have one?” he tried to explain. Oh man, this was not a rabbit hole he wanted to go down, but it looked like this was something that was unpreventable. Time to ride it out. 

“Okay… your dad then?” Stark suggested.

“Nope.”

“Siblings?”

“Nada.”

“Uncle?” Stark tried once more, and yeah, okay, Peter flinched on that one. Probably time to stop him.

“Do you want to keep digging this hole, or can we move on?” Peter snapped. 

It was quiet once more. Maybe Peter shouldn’t have gotten short with him. But, like, take a hint man. 

“Okay, no one to call, that’s fine,” male voice number 784 said, trying to diffuse the situation. That one would be Rogers, with that weird air of righteousness he always had, even when he was hesitant. “Bruce, you still have to do a check up, right?”

Peter assumed that the man who answered was Dr. Banner. “Yeah, I wasn’t able to get that far earlier.”

“What would this check up entail?” Peter asked. 

“Well, I would probably start with getting the blood off of your face,” the doctor started, and Peter winced. Right, he probably looked like a wreck. “Then, if you’re alright with it, I’ll see if you have any other injuries. Might take a blood sample, do a test.”

Peter stopped him there. “No blood samples. My blood is radioactive and filled with spicy DNA, and I don’t tend to allow people to get their hands on it.” That happened once. Not willingly of course- one can't prevent much when they’re kidnapped by an international terrorist organization. 

“Your blood is-” Dr. Banner interrupted himself. “Ok, nevermind. That’s alright.”

“If you’re going to have to take off my suit, then I want the others to leave. Doesn’t seem like they all need to examine my body, right?”

Rogers took over once again, announcing, “We can leave. We’ll just… Yeah, we’re leaving. Bruce, we’ll be on the common floor when you’re done.”

“Alright. If he’s alright, I’ll bring him up with me. Yeah. Yep. Go on out, guys. No, I’ll be fine. Come on, out the door. Closing the door now, Tony. Bye.” 

Peter heard the door slam, and he let out a harsh exhale. “Hey, Dr. Banner. How do ya do?”

“I’m alright, Spider-Man, thanks. How are you?”

“Not so stellar, doc, if I’m being honest,” the teen chuckled. He decided then that if he trusted Ms. Maximoff, then he could probably trust the good doctor. “You can, uh, call me Peter. If you want.”

To his credit, Dr. Banner only paused for two seconds before he calmly went on, “Ok, Peter. You can call me Bruce.”

That seemed a bit too informal for Peter. The only reason why he wasn’t geeking out at the moment was because he had gotten scarily good at repressing his emotions. If Peter had this exact conversation with the doctor even a year ago, he’d be a blubbering mess. This was _the_ Dr. Robert Bruce Banner. He used to spend his free time reading his papers on gamma radiation and biochemistry. Later on, when he had to utilize it in his extracurricular activities, he read up on the man’s physics research. Dr. Banner had _seven_ doctorates, for christ’s sake. His school had posters of him in the majority of its science classrooms. 

But Peter didn’t say any of that, instead going with, “Bruce. Cool. Should I, like, take off my suit? I have a shirt and stuff on underneath.”

“If you’re alright with it, then yes, go ahead. I want to clean off your face first, though.”

As Bruce must have been gathering some water or antiseptic, Peter took off his suit. At that moment, he realized that his backpack was still in an alleyway on 16th street. _Shit._ Maybe he could go back out sometime and get it. If he was really lucky, maybe the team would let him drop by his estate and collect his other belongings. He wanted to keep his knives, maybe to flaunt them to Romanov. But aside from those and his first aid supplies (plus a few shirts, pairs of pants, and undergarments), he had some more personal things. May and Ben’s wedding rings on a chain. A picture of him with his parents when he was a toddler, framed. He had put so much effort into not letting that glass crack. There was a small bag with a few Legos from his and Ned’s favorite set. MJ had given him a few crystals for his birthday last year, and he kept those as well. He had a collection of written notes from Matt, ranging from reminders about their sessions, to simple “Have a good day, fuckwad” messages. He wanted to keep all of those things, even if it seemed like he was going to be living with the Avengers for a while.

Bruce snapped him out of his thoughts, saying “You can just put your suit on the floor next to the bed. Is it alright if I touch your face?”

When Peter gave his affirmation, he tensed as he could sense Bruce getting closer. It’s fine, Peter. He’s a doctor, he’s just trying to help. Don’t move, don't move, you know what’s coming, don’t move… Nice. He didn’t flinch backwards. Bruce was methodical, yet very gentle, in his movements. They were both silent until Bruce pulled back once more. Peter’s face felt much more clean, so he thought this little meeting was going great.

That was until Bruce said, “Uh, Peter? Why is blood on your fingers?” 

Right. The blood. He subconsciously moved his hand to cover up his arm, which drew the doctor’s attention to it. 

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

“I, uh… I accidentally scratched it a bit too hard. Don’t worry, it stopped bleeding a while ago.” Probably. 

“You did this?” Peter didn’t pick up the concern lacing the man’s voice.

“Yeah. Um, sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t-” Bruce paused. “Don't apologize, Peter. We’ll just have to… work on not doing that.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Sure.”

There were, again, a few moments of silence, except this time you could cut the tension with a knife. It didn't even have to be a Romanov Knife. 

Bruce is the one who broke it. “Could I lift up your shirt to inspect your torso?”

Peter tensed even further, and threw his hands out to prevent Bruce from moving his own. “I’d, uh, prefer if I did it.” He hesitantly lifted up the hem of his shirt. “And could you keep telling me before you touch me? That’s been pretty cash money of you.”

“Yeah, of course. If you…” Bruce trailed off once Peter fully removed his shirt. _Right._ Peter was used to his scars, but he always forgot how bad they looked to fresh eyes. His entire body was marred with them, including his face. He didn’t know why people always thought the scarring would end there. There was a faint scar on his neck from a knife (one he didn't get to keep), but you had to be looking for it too see it. His back had burns and stab wounds and whip-lash wounds. The story was no different on his chest. The one he hated the most was the phrase “PROPERTY OF HYDRA” branded onto his upper back. It was a dirty reminder of maybe the worst few weeks of his life. Fucking Nazis, always thinking he was an object. His arms held the typical crime-fighting scars, including some that were self inflicted as well. There were some of those on his thighs as well. His wrists and ankles showed signs of being rubbed raw from restraints. Peter knew his body wasn't a pretty sight, which is why he usually tried to wear clothes that cover it. He couldn’t very well explain all of that to Bruce, so while it was embarrassing, he figured he could suck it up. It’s not like Bruce would be the first- Ned, MJ, and Matt had all seen him without a shirt. None of them had seen the brand, sure, but oh well. Bruce seemed to be generally chill.

“Let’s not talk about the glaring issues here, yeah?” Peter suggested, curling into himself slightly. 

All Bruce allowed him was a warning that he was going to touch him. This time, Peter couldn't help the slight flinch.

Bruce worked in silence, and even though Peter couldn’t see the man, he turned his head away. Trying to release some of the nervous energy that had built up, he fidgeted in any way he could without disturbing Bruce. He wiggle his toes, drummed his fingers on the side of the bed, cracked his neck, bit the inside of his cheek. 

“You know,” Bruce said amicably, “I’ve tried to kill myself several times.” Before Peter could get a word out, he went on. “Hated the Hulk. Blamed myself for all the times he wreaked havoc, of course. And really, it’s still my fault if I can’t control my emotions properly. But every time I tried to put a bullet in my head, the Hulk spit it back out.”

“Me too,” Peter whispered. His cracked up healing ability never allowed him to succeed.

“Eventually, I realized that I was stuck with the Hulk. So, I resorted to self harm. Seemed like a better solution than repeatedly killing myself. When I became an Avenger, things changed a bit. Nat helped me learn to love myself a bit more. I found a best friend in Tony. I got a support system. Slowly but surely, I started to heal. Went to therapy, and when Sam joined, I talked to him too. The Avengers are my family, and they were able to pick me up when I fell. That sounds cheesy, but I’ve been clean for over a year now. I still go to therapy, too. I needed to learn that it was ok to get help, and when to utilize it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Yeah, maybe there was a bit of a waver in Peter’s voice. 

“Because I want you to know that there’s hope, Peter,” Bruce told him, sincerity emanating from his entire being. “You might be here for a while. Maybe you could come to one of us if you need help. I know that may not feel like an option to you right now, but those guys are good people. They didn’t mean to hurt you that badly. If you don’t want to go to them, you have me. I promise.”

“Thank you, Bruce. I appreciate it.” And he did. It would take some getting used to, but maybe he had a friend here. Maybe he could have more. 

“Well!” Bruce exclaimed. “Seems like your healing ability is truly something else. You’re extremely malnourished, dehydrated, and probably due for a long night’s rest, but you don't have any dire injuries.”

Peter was grateful for the change of topic. “Could’ve told you that, doc.”

“So,” the man went on, “that means that I can take you up to the common floor, if you’re up to it. I can lead you since your eyesight is still in poor condition. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat, yeah?”

“Sure,” Peter breathed out. “Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those who skipped anything: Bruce and Peter bonded, Bruce made sure that Peter knew that he could ask for help.  
> hydra comin through with the implied/referenced torture  
> so like. what if I did febuwhump? I don't think I would be able to write every prompt everyday, but it feels like a rite of passage as a writer on here. would you guys be into that or,,,, comments and kudos appreciated <3


	7. Wanda Appreciation Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> how to write conversations? asking for a friend  
> TWs: implied/referenced torture and experimentation, food talk

“You sure you don't need any help?” Bruce asked. 

“Absolutely not, but let me try it first,” Peter told him as he attempted to get up. Bruce was going to take him to the kitchen, but first he needed to get out of bed. Maybe relearn how to walk, depending on how this went. His body gets a crumb of rest, and suddenly it shuts down. He was feeling around his surroundings for something to grab hold of to help him up. All he felt was the corner of the nightstand next to him, so he stuck to it and pulled himself up. It was easier than he thought, but his legs still wobbled slightly. “Alright. What’s the plan, man?”

He could feel Bruce shuffle closer as he said, “I’m holding out my right arm, so you can use it if you want me to lead you.” Peter nodded, and slowly reached out his left hand until he made contact. He had never been on the other end of this move. Occasionally, when Matt didn’t have his cane and they were in civvies, Peter would allow the man to hold onto his arm. Peter assumed that it would take a lot of trust to just let someone lead you around, so he would have to have a bit of faith in Bruce. Thankfully, their impromptu therapy session allowed Peter to feel more comfortable around the doctor.

“Do you want your suit?” Bruce questioned. “I just remembered.”

“Nah, I’m good for now. I’m covered up enough, and they all just had several hours of screen time with my face.”

Bruce might’ve nodded, but Peter still couldn’t see well enough to make it out. “I’m going to start walking now,” he warned. Peter gave an acknowledgement and they started a slow pace towards the exit. He wanted to hold out his other hand to feel around his surroundings, but that might just look weird. He heard the door open, and they stepped out into a hallway. “We’re going to the elevator, by the way.”

“I figured,” Peter mumbled. 

It was quiet once more until they reached the elevator, and stepped inside once it arrived. 

“So,” Bruce started, with an air of false casualness, “will you tell the others your name?”

Question of the hour. Ms. Maximoff and Bruce were the only ones who knew it, and he figured they had earned their knowledge. But is a name something to be earned? The way Peter thought about it was that it was one aspect of his secret identity that he could still keep from the Avengers, without it being revealed to them without his consent. They took off his mask, seemingly without any hesitation. It could be nice to keep something else from them. But then again, it was only his first name- it’s not like Stark could find anything on him based off of that. Peter had made an effort to remove all records of him from all online platforms to avoid Stark finding him, but he has been found anyway. What’s the true harm in revealing his name? He was going to be living with them for a while, and they were bound to figure out more things about him. 

“I’m not sure, man” he told the doctor after a few seconds of silence. “Probably at some point.”

It was quiet, and then, “Oh, sorry. I nodded.” Peter allowed himself a chuckle. “We’re almost there, Peter. You feeling okay?”

“Yessir. I’m hyped up, ready to go. Go, uh, get another dinner.”

“Always a special occasion,” Bruce affirmed. “You can take hold of my arm again, the elevator stopped.”

Peter neglected to mention that he, too, felt the elevator stop. Peter did as the man said, and proceeded to move out of the elevator with Bruce. His footsteps were naturally light, but Peter made a conscious effort to make them even more silent. He didn’t want to bother any Avengers that were on the floor. What if they got mad? Kicked him out, started attacking him again. Peter just got done with that, he didn’t want to start the process all over. 

“Hey, Spider-Man.”

The voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “Ms. Maximoff. Are you the only one here?”

“Only one in this area. The others are a few rooms over, so they can’t hear us” she replied. “You can call me Wanda, you know. We’re not that far apart in age.”

“Wanda,” he nodded. “Uh, you can use Peter, if you want to.”

“I… I didn’t want to be disrespectful,” she told him with some hesitation. “I invaded your mind. I figured that since you didn’t actually tell me your name, you wouldn't want me to use it.”

“Wanda,” he quietly said, carefully adding comfort into his tone, “I gave you permission to look around. It’s fine. Call me Peter.”

Before he could hear her response, Peter was pulled in closer to Bruce, who told him, “I’m going to meet up with the team, get them settled with your presence. Take your time with Wanda.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” he acknowledged as he dropped his arm. At the same time, he stopped walking, having no idea which way was what. 

“Here,” Wanda popped in. “Take my arm, I’ll lead you.”

“Thanks. We were heading to the kitchen.”

They started moving, walking in comfortable silence. Peter liked Wanda’s presence. It was a relief that she still wanted to talk to him after seeing the shit within his mind. He didn’t think many people would do that. Yet she did, and even apologized for it afterwards. Yeah, Wanda was nice. Hopefully Peter wouldn’t fuck up this relationship.

Wanda broke the silence. “So, how good is your hearing right now?”

“A huge improvement from a few hours ago,” he explained. “Nowhere near my usual hearing ability, though. If I remember correctly, it’s still a bit quieter than what my hearing was like before I got my powers.”

“You weren’t born with your powers?”

Fuck it, Peter’s trusting Wanda. “No, I got them when I was 14. Bitten by a radioactive spider on a field trip, scared my teacher shitless, proceeded to have agonizing pain and sickness for a day, and then I woke up with abs.” An oversimplification, to be sure.

“Oh.”

Shit, did Peter say too much? He kinda dumped all of that onto her. He thought it would be okay, seeing as she had already figured out so much from his mind. He didn’t talk much about how he got his powers, only glossing over it with Ned and MJ and not even telling Matt. What made him think that telling all of that to Wanda, someone who he just fucking met, was alright? Apparently, Peter’s only hobby was oversharing.

“I wasn’t born with my powers, either.” Oh, she just wasn’t done. “I got them from the mind stone when I was a teenager. My brother and I volunteered to be experimented on by HYDRA.”

It was always fucking HYDRA, wasn’t it? “Those fuckers,” he seethed. “Sucks that they did that to you. I’m sorry.”

“We signed up for it though!” she argued. “I’m not defending them, but we were stupid children as well.”

“Maybe, but you guys were still children. HYDRA shouldn’t have experimented on children in the first place. They do that a lot, actually,” he added, stupidly oversharing once again. “Quite the bad habit.”

Thankfully, Wanda chose to move past his small slip up. “I suppose that’s true,” she agreed. “Uh, we’re in the kitchen now. Is there anything you would like to eat? I would like to think I’m a pretty good chef.”

Peter’s stomach growled, despite eating not even a few hours ago. He supposed a shrunken stomach was still bound to digest food quickly with his dumbass metabolism.

“I’m fine with anything,” he told her. “If there’s something that’s quick to make, you could just do that if it’s easier.”

“It’s alright, I like to cook. How about some pasta? We could share it, if you wouldn’t mind. It’s getting rather late, and I myself haven’t eaten since lunch.”

Peter’s body went cold with guilt. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about that. God, I took up your guys’ whole day, and I was the only one who ate. Fuck, Wanda, I’m sorry.”

“Peter, relax,” she soothed. “First, it was not your fault. You obviously didn’t choose to get kidnapped. Second, some of the Avengers ate while you were still with Bruce. I just chose not to because I wanted to wait for you.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “That’s good. Pasta would be great Wanda, thank you.” Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had pasta. Certainly not while he was on the streets or at Richard’s house, so he and May must have gone out to have it. There’s no way May could have made a successful pasta dish. She had attempted it, but failed miserably the three times she tried. Ben could always make a bomb carbonara, though. Peter knew he couldn’t be picky, but he still hoped Wanda was more like Ben than May.

As Wanda clambered around the kitchen, they made small talk. They chatted a little bit about Peter’s old school, and Wanda was shocked to learn that Harley was going to the same one. Of course, Peter was not. They did a few ice breakers, which only reminded him of his days in said school. Turns out, they had about the same music taste. That is, hardly anything specific. They could agree that country music was shit, excluding Taylor Swift and Dolly Parton. Everyone always hated on country until “Jolene” came on. They both liked Tyler, the Creator, and Peter recommended Childish Gambino to her. They both said that they liked Mother Mother, and they did that little thing where they gave each other mute looks, which said  _ “Are you...?” “Are you?” “I am, what about you?” “Yeah, I am.” _ Then they fist bumped, grinning. It was a good ol’ fashioned coming out. Gay Rights™, y’know?

Peter smelled the dish as she set it down in front of him. He felt around for the fork he knew she put down, and took as large of a bite he could manage once he found it. 

“Wanda, this is like nectar of the gods,” he moaned. It was borderline obscene, but what was he if not dramatic?

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she laughed. They were quickly forming a bond. Maybe it was because they were close in age, or maybe it was because she had seen some of the worst parts of him right off the bat. Either way, Peter was enjoying himself.

They ate together, Peter having to stop himself from eating too much. She gave him a smaller plate on purpose, but seeing as pasta was loaded with carbs, he couldn’t eat much without feeling nauseous. 

“So,” Wanda began as she was finishing up her meal, “would you like for me to take you to the team?”

“It’s not like I have a choice, right?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, you could just… Yeah you don’t really have many other options,” she said ruefully.

Peter nodded. “Then I’m alright to go see them again. It’s not gonna be another interrogation, right?” Peter was fucking tired. He didn’t want to have to deal with another onslaught of questions.

“I doubt it,” she assured. “I think Tony’s just going to take you to your room.” Peter nodded, and she hesitantly went on, “I was thinking I could ask him to let you have the guest room on my floor? If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I’m sure Tony could-”

“Wanda, I’d love to,” he interrupted. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

“Of course, Peter. Just letting you know, Harley and Vision are also in the same area. We’re technically the youngsters of the team, so Tony clumped us together.”

“Right, cool, that’s fine.” Would he be next to Harley? Could he finally talk to the other boy? Apologize for the fight? Maybe they could be speedy friends too, like him and Wanda were. Unless Harley hates that Peter was going to be invading his living space. But Harley was the one to suggest the plan, right? 

“I can hear you thinking,” Wanda laughed, but then abruptly stopped. “Not actually, though. You know, the saying? That’s what I meant. I wasn’t using my powers, I swear!”

Peter shook his head, smiling. “I know what you meant. Guess we should get going before I pass out from exhaustion?”

“That would be ideal.”

Peter reached out for her arm, and she moved into his hold. They walked at the same slow pace as before, ensuring that Peter didn’t run into any walls.

“Bruce probably briefed them on being nice,” Wanda told him. “Not that they’re  _ not _ nice, but sometimes they’re a bit too curious.”

Peter snorted. “I’m a curious person too, but I don’t go and kidnap someone when I want to know who they are.”

“Can’t say I have, either,” she chuckled. “Okay, we’re almost there, you ready?”

What he said was “Of course”, but the only thing that was going on in his head was screaming. Like just, legit screaming. It was loud and panicky and filled every corner of his mind. It was a distracting background noise to his conversation. 

Peter could barely hear the very faint conversation inside the room, which came to a halt as soon as Wanda pushed open the door. They stepped inside, and Peter refused to say anything. He could feel their eyes on him as Wanda led him to a seat near the door. He sat down, and only then did anyone say anything.

“Hey, kid,” Bruce said casually, refraining from saying his name. Another point to the doctor. “How was dinner part two?”

Peter tried to tilt his head in the direction of the voice. “It was good; Wanda makes a god tier carbonara.”

“Oh man, she made you carbonara?” Barton jumped in, apparently getting over himself. “Lucky.”

“Very lucky to have the metabolism five times faster than yours, but be unable to satisfy it.” It was a petty comment, but let Peter have his fun.

When Barton went quiet once more, Bruce asked, “Five times?”

“Give or take,” Peter shrugged. 

“Impressive,” Rogers declared.

Peter’s voice took on an innocent lilt, and fake fawned, “Oh my goodness! Thank you so much, Captain! I work very hard to digest substances quickly.” He finished with a blinding grin, which he immediately wiped from his face from dramatic effect. Wanda laughed from beside him, before she muffled herself.

“Oh, I like this kid,” Stark said, but Peter had to strain to hear it. Don’t make your comments under your breath, sir. “Alright! I can take you to your room now if you want to get any semblance of rest.”

“Tony, if you wouldn’t mind, could you let him have the spare bedroom in my hallway?” Wanda asked, like the godsend she was.

“I guess, if you want him with you. And if Harley’s alright with it.” He paused, then added, “I’m assuming you don’t mind, Vision.”

Peter guessed that the one who responded was Vision. “Of course not,” he assured.

“I’m fine with it!” Harley excitedly agreed. “I mean, yeah I wouldn’t mind.” Nerd. He wants to be roomies with his one-time nurse.

“Well, Spidey, you seem quite popular this evening,” Stark commented. “I’m sure Wanda will be able to handle your move. There’s already toiletries and some clothes in your new room, seeing as we kind of made it one of our guest rooms. Go get settled in.”

As Wanda and Peter stood up, him latching onto her arm immediately, Peter felt Harley walk over to them. “I’m tired, so I’ll head up to the rooms with them,” he explained. 

“Thanks for the constant updates, kid,” Tony snorted. “Really appreciate them.”

Harley didn’t respond verbally. Wand started walking, but now they had Harley by their side. He went the same pace as them, accidentally or on purpose, Peter didn’t know.

When they were out of the room, Harley cleared his throat. “So,” he began. “How are you?”

Peter shrugged. “Tired. Can’t see. Have a major headache. But other than that, I’m all good,” he told the other teen. Before he could ask Harley how  _ he  _ was doing, Wanda jumped in. 

“You have a headache? Why didn’t you say something? We can get you some medicine.”

“It’s fine, Wanda. Not the worst thing ever. Plus, I’m fairly sure that you guys won’t have any drugs that’ll work on me.”

“We have medicine made for Steve and Bucky,” Harley suggested. “Maybe those can work?”

“By the sound of it, it seems like my metabolism is faster than Mr. Rogers’s. I don’t think the medicine will make a dent,” he shot the idea down.

“Well, you know your body best.”

Peter laughed. “Hardly. This thing is an enigma.”

“I bet Bruce would be willing to do some tests to figure you out a little bit more?” Harley suggested.

Peter froze.  _ Tests.  _ On him. What kind of tests? The kind HYDRA did? They were trying to figure him out, too. They wanted to know what his body did, how it worked, so they used any means necessary to figure it out. Peter didn’t want to know if it meant more tests. Bruce probably wouldn’t torture him like they did, but he’s a scientist. He would enjoy some experimentation. Peter’s body would be a lovely test subject.

“No tests,” he whispered. 

“Okay, that’s fine,” Wanda assured. “No tests. Hey, there won’t be any tests, you hear me?”

Peter shook himself. “Yeah. Sorry.” Only then did he realize that he was no longer attached to Wanda. He reached out, and she moved into his grasp once more. “Thanks.” 

“Sorry I brought it up,” Harley quietly apologized. 

Peter sighed, “Not your fault. I’m just an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. I was being insensitive.”

Peter waved him off. “It’s fine, I swear. I’m just tired.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Well, we’re at the elevator now,” Wanda told him. “You’ll be in your room and sleeping soon enough.”

They stepped into said elevator, and were quiet as they went up to the rooms. Peter could feel the awkwardness exuding from Harley. Peter wondered if he was always like that, or if it was because of Peter. Now that Peter thought about it, when they had that quick fight, Harley couldn’t really be described as awkward. If anything, he was confident. He jumped right into the fight, a quip on his lips, and was comfortable with himself and the situation until he was ultimately webbed up. That meant that his behavior was probably Peter’s fault. Oops. 

Wanda pulled him out of the elevator and started talking once more. “This floor is our floor. We’ve got a small kitchen that we’re passing, a small living room, and a small version of Tony’s lab.”   


“That’s for me,” Harley explained, “but if you’re into it, we could share.”

“I wouldn’t want to invade your privacy,” Peter mumbled.

“It’s not an invasion of privacy if I invite you.” Peter just nodded. 

“And here we have our rooms!” Wanda tried to show him. It didn’t work. “Uh, Vision’s room is on the end, mine is next to his, Harley’s next to me, and you’re across the hall. There’s a bathroom in each room.”

“Livin' the high life, I see,” Peter commented. “You guys got a lot up here.”

“Well, Tony Stark  _ is  _ the one housing us, so…” Harley cleared his throat. “Wanda, I bet you’re exhausted. I can get Peter settled, if that’s alright?”

She leaned in closer to Peter. “Is that okay? I kinda am pretty tired.”

“Get some rest, Wanda,” he nodded. “I’ll be fine with him.”

Wanda squeezed his hand, and called out a goodnight as she went to her room. 

Peter turned to Harley, but before he could ask for help, Harley offered, “You wanna take my arm?” Peter nodded gratefully, and Harley led him to Peter’s room. “So this is the bathroom, there’s a cup and an unopened toothbrush in the right hand drawer, towels in the left. The closet is next to the bathroom, there’s just some generic clothes in there. Sweatpants, a hoodie, some shorts, T-shirts, you know. I'm sure we can take you out shopping at some point if you want more clothes.”

“This is more than enough.” Peter hadn’t had this many clothes in over a year, not even at Richard’s place. He wasn’t able to take much of his belongings when he went into the system. “Thanks, Harley.”

“No problem. Think you can make it to the bed okay?”

Oops. “Hell no. Could you help?” 

“‘Course.” Harley proceeded to deposit him on the bed, after pulling the covers back. Peter felt like a little kid. At the same time, it was nice to have someone take care of him. Bruce, Wanda, and now Harley have helped lead him through the past few hours, and Peter couldn’t help but feel warm inside at the thought.

He felt Harley’s arm leave him, and he immediately missed the contact. He got a bit used to having to constantly touch someone to walk around, but his eyesight would be better in the morning, so he would have to deal with being alone again. It’s not like he could ask for touch, he would seem needy. And he never liked it when people touched him without him saying that they could, so if anyone did that he would freak out. That would lead to people not wanting to initiate contact with him. See his predicament?

“Goodnight, Spider-Man.” Harley called out.

“Call me Peter.” He was treating his name like an initiation into a cult at this point. 

A pause. Then, “Goodnight, Peter.”

-

Harley let the door shut behind him, then he all but ran to his room. But then he stopped, and decided to run to Wanda’s room. He knocked, and she opened the door with a wisp of bright red. He ran in and jumped onto her bed, landing face first. 

“Harley,” she mockingly rebuked him, “I am very tired. I’m currently asleep right now, if you couldn't tell.”

She was nowhere near asleep. Although Harley knew that she had to be tired, his comment indicating her exhaustion allowed her to leave so he could be with Spidey a little longer. Peter. His name was Peter. Wanda had her hair in the braids she wore before bed, but Harley knew that she never went to bed without saying goodnight to Vision first, and he had yet to come up. She was sitting on the floor with her back against her bed, going through a magazine.

“Sorry about that,” he breathed out, turning his head towards her. “But  _ Wanda,  _ his name is Peter. He told me his name!”

She gave a knowing smile. “Oh, you’re in deep.”

He groaned, “I can’t help it. No one told me Spider-Man’s hot!”

“No one knew,” she shrugged, struggling to keep a straight face.

“And he's funny! He’s hot, he’s funny, do you think he’s smart? I bet he’s smart.”

“You gonna lay on the charm?”

“I’ve already made a fool of myself, being an awkward mess. How can I be redeemed?”

“Continue to be an awkward mess,” she advised. “Maybe showing that he makes you flustered will hint at something.”

“I hate that word.  _ Flustered.” _

“It’s true! You, Harley Keener, are a gay mess for a teenage vigilante.”

He covered his face in his hands, and muttered, “I know.”

“You know,” she said as she set down her magazine, “you might actually have a chance with him. He’s bi.”

Harley shot up. “He is? Wait, did you just out him to me? Very rude of you.”

“Don’t worry, we talked about it while I made dinner for us. He doesn’t mind people knowing. Apparently, he showed up to pride like two years ago as Spider-Man.”

“Bider-Man type beat,” he nodded.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’m gonna go panic to myself in my room,” he told her as he moved to get up. “See ya tomorrow.”

“I’ll be your wing-woman!” she called out.

“You’re a godsend, Wanda.”

He closed her door, and this time actually went to his room. He quietly shut his door and slid down against it. Peter. The name suited him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that update took A While,, but on the plus side i started doing febuwhump! go check that out if you wanna! none of the prompt fills are related to this universe though so. yeah. comments and kudos appreciated <3


	8. Mental Map Appreciation Post

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kdfkajs guys,, thanks so much for over 10k hits!!!! it's literally been a month since i first started this, the support has been massive :) mwah love u guys  
> fun fact, haven't abandoned this fic, i've actually been working on the chapter for a while. all in-person school just started up again, so i've been super busy. also just generally unmotivated. i'm sorry pls don't hate me, here's a longer chappie as a treat  
> TWs: nightmare, description of injuries in said nightmare, Tiny description of after effects of said nightmare, tiny sensory overload, a sentence of self hate

Peter drifted awake to the sounds of the busy street below him. Car horns and the barks of dogs filled his ears. The smell of bacon made it his way, and he grinned. He loved Saturday mornings. He took his time getting ready, knowing that the bacon wasn’t ready to be eaten yet. He changed out of his pajamas since he and Ned made plans to go to the arcade today. 

He left his room and quietly padded to the kitchen. When he rounded the corner, Ben was at the stove top making bacon and pancakes, as expected. May was sitting at the table, face hidden by the opened newspaper in front of her. That was odd; she usually stuck to her magazines. 

“Morning, May,” he announced his presence. “Something special in the news?”

She pulled the newspaper down, and Peter flinched backwards. There was blood dripping from her temple, nose, and ears. Her face was severely bruised, and as his eyes trailed downwards, he could see the rest of her body didn’t look much better. Her arm was bent unnaturally, and he could see a bone poking through her marred skin. She said nothing, just looked at him with empty eyes and a straight face. 

“M-May?” he stammered, breathing heavily. He backed up more, moving towards Ben. “Ben, what- what happened to May?”

“You tell me, Peter,” the man demanded, and oh  _ god _ his voice was terrifying. It was hollow and echoed throughout the room. When he turned, Peter shrieked. He was no better than May. His face was pale, with dark eyebags, but otherwise unscathed. But his chest… his chest had three bullet wounds in it. They were still bleeding, the deep red slowly taking over the light blue of his shirt. 

Peter stumbled in his maneuver backwards and he collapsed in a pile of trembling limbs on the floor. May slowly stood up, unhindered by the crookedness of her legs, and matched pace with Ben as they sauntered towards him. They halted a few inches away, looming over him. He could see every detail of the massacre that made up their bodies. Ben’s blood dripped onto his leg and he yanked it away, whimpering. 

“We wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for you.” They spoke in unison, their voices ringing out together. 

“You could have saved Ben,” May droned.

“You could have saved May,” Ben echoed. 

“I tried,” Peter whispered. “I didn’t mean to let you die.”

“You’re a  _ curse!”  _ they screeched. “You kill everyone you know. It’s all your fault, your fault, your fault.”

He sobbed, grief coursing through his veins. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t  _ cut it-” _

Peter gasped, pulling himself out of his nightmare. They weren’t here. They weren’t mad at him. It’s fine. 

Tears slipped down his cheeks and pooled at his jawline. He reached his trembling hand up to swipe them away. His quick breaths were the only thing he could hear in his near silent room. Wait, not his room. Where was he? Think, think, thinking… the tower. He was at the Avengers tower, in one of the guest rooms. Right. Okay. 

Deep breaths, Peter. You’re safe. It wasn’t the worst thing your mind has cooked up for you.

He ran a hand through his hair, contributing to the existing oiliness of it. Maybe he could take a shower. It might help calm him down, and he could get clean with something other than a bowl of water and a towel. He didn’t know what time it was, probably some time in the wee hours of the morning, so he hoped he didn't wake anyone up. He ripped the blanket off of him and moved his still shaking legs to the side of the bed. Now, how to get to the shower. He didn’t know if he could see yet, seeing as it was pitch black in his room, but he probably improved a bit with a few hours of sleep. He could definitely hear better, because he was able to hear the shifting of his sheet loud and clear. He was probably approaching fully healed eardrums. He didn't think they took super long for normal people to heal, so by the end of today he would most likely be at his usual enhanced hearing level. 

He sighed, and decided he would have to do his best to get to the bathroom. He stood up, and shuffled forward slightly. Alright, nothing in front of him. He probably looked like an idiot, flailing his arms around to make sure he didn't hit anything and taking small, cautious steps forward.

“Good morning, Spider-Man.” Despite the softness of the Irish woman’s voice, Peter startled. 

“Who’s there?” he quietly called out, making sure he wouldn’t wake up any of his hallmates. 

“I am FRIDAY, Tony Stark’s A.I.” Oh, nice. Peter may be stupid. His Spidey Sense didn’t alert him to any danger, and the voice was friendly. He knew FRIDAY. Well, more like her system. It was a difficult thing to hack, but one will do many new things when bored.

“Oh, right. Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem, Spider-Man. I realize that my disembodied voice can be a difficult thing to get used to,” she acknowledged. “Would you like for me to turn on the lights for you?”

He looked up, despite not being able to see anything. “You can do that?”

“I control most things in the tower, yes.” He’s an idiot. What did he think a fucking rich man’s A.I. was for?

“Then that would be great, thanks.”

The lights flicked on, and oh, Peter could very much see. In fact, he saw a bit too much. For almost a day, his vision had been consistently dark and practically non-existent. The sudden onslaught of bright light  _ hurt.  _ He squeezed his eyes shut, not even looking around the room. 

“Would you like for me to dim the lights?” came the soothing voice of the A.I. He nodded, not even thinking about how there was a chance that she couldn't see the movement. However, he apparently got lucky because the burning in his eyes lessened slightly as some of the light disappeared from his eyelids. He slowly opened them, squinting to see the warm glow that now lit up his room. The light didn’t burn against his retinas, and Peter let out a sigh of relief. Now that he could actually see, he needed to test how  _ well.  _ He could make out all of the objects in the room. The bed next to him, the handle of the door to the bathroom, a lounge chair in the corner. The lines of everything were still a bit blurred, but he would be able to guide himself around the tower today. Thing is, the rest of the building wouldn’t have dimmed lights. 

“FRIDAY, could you please raise the lights by 10%?” She did as he asked, and the change didn’t hit Peter too hard. He sat down on the floor against his bed, seeing no use in standing if his legs were still shaking. They repeated this process together, allowing Peter to slowly get accustomed to the usual brightness of the tower. By the time the lights were at full power, about 15 minutes had passed. He was still just chilling on the floor, so he heaved himself up unsteadily to go take a shower. 

He couldn’t avoid the mirror in the bathroom no matter how hard he tried. The thing was huge, and once he caught sight of himself in it, he couldn’t look away. Yeesh, he looked terrible. His face was pale, which was expected since he could feel the current lack of blood in his cheeks. His dark eyebags stuck out like sore thumbs, no matter how blurry his face was. Those combined with the paleness and gauntness of his body made him look like a zombie. He probably wouldn't need much makeup if he was an extra on  _ The Walking Dead _ . Peter shuddered and ripped his eyes away from his reflection. He hated how he looked. Unhealthy would be an understatement - horrific was more like it.

Peter turned to face the shower. Alright, first shower in like, a year. No big. He wanted to get the clammy sweat off of his skin. He was never able to do that when had his almost nightly nightmares on the streets; he had to conserve water. Because of that, his hair was a disgusting level of greasy and the crevices of his skin were caked in dirt. Bruce had done a simple cleaning when he performed his examination, but obviously it was just a once over with a washcloth. He turned the shower knob and winced at the sudden loud sound. He stuck his hand under the flow of water and was surprised to see it was already hot. He’d been used to poorly heated water his whole life. He was gonna take a hot-ass shower.

Having already stripped, he stepped into the shower and immediately relished in the pressure of the water. The warm water pounding against his back felt like it could be a tight hug. He sighed as he reached for the shampoo. He took his time lathering and rinsing his hair, attempting to get every bit of dirt out of it. The coarseness of his fingers felt like heaven against his scalp. He’s had calloused hands for a while. It started out with the callouses he got from his tools while he was building random shit in his room. Then he got new callouses from his vigilante gig because of his fingerless gloves. And then his hands became even tougher when he became homeless - he had no glove protection then. He kind of liked his callouses. It has become especially difficult to burn through the tough, which he appreciated when he had to, say, move burning pieces of a building out of the way. He straight up didn't get splinters, so that was pretty sick.

Peter treated himself to a bit of the conditioner that was available, and proceeded to wash his body while he waited for the conditioner to set. He scrubbed away the clamminess of his skin with the loofah that was so kindly provided. It was obviously very rare that he felt fresh after a nightmare, so it felt amazing to seemingly wash away all of the thoughts that haunted him at night. He rinsed his hair once more, before deciding he should wrap it up. He’d probably been in there for 30 minutes. Besides, he was getting hungry.

He stepped out and yanked one of the (incredibly soft? Why were towels allowed to be this soft?) towels towards him. He quickly ran it over his body, ignoring the glimpses of bright red he saw. Water burns, he figured. Constant hot water would do that to ya, he supposed. He carefully crept out of the bathroom and collected clothes for the day. Long sleeves and sweatpants, both gray. Except the shirt had a small “A” on the left breast- the Avengers logo. When he squinted, he could make out the blurred shape of Captain America’s shield on the waistline of the pants. Cool marketing, guys. He pulled on the clothes before tilting his head towards the ceiling. 

“Hey, FRIDAY,” he whispered. “What time is it?” 

“It is 3:41 in the morning,” she answered, matching the loudness of his voice.

That wasn't too bad. What was it, maybe four hours of sleep? Restless sleep, sure, but it was still sleep. Maybe he could sneak to the kitchen. Wanda said that they had one on this floor, right? A little early morning snack could be good. He didn't even need to turn on any lights - he could remember the path well enough. 

He padded over to the door and slowly opened it. He stuck his head out like you see in cartoons, looking left to right with raised eyebrows. Nothing. He sighed, and crept out into the hallway, softly shutting the door behind him. He moved quickly and silently, mimicking the way he snuck around while on patrol, running his hands against the wall to help lead him through the dark hallway. Eventually, thanks to his trusty Mental Map, he spotted a faint glow from around the corner. When he turned said corner, he was faced with the youth kitchen.

Instead of being sleek, like he expected, the kitchen looked homey. Warm. He was imagining metal everywhere, spotless surfaces, and boring colors like Wanda described the common kitchen as. Instead, everything looked a bit mismatched. The cupboards were wooden, as was the table in the middle of the room. The earthy green of the cabinets complimented the whiteness of the unoccupied walls. The fridge was metal, but on it hung various papers. When he moved closer, he could make out some small drawings. The other papers had text on them, but they all blurred together. He’ll look at them later. There were a few stains on the countertops, resembling his poor old kitchen when May got a hold of it. 

Peter didn't know what was where, so he moved towards one of the sets of cabinets. The first one he opened had a bunch of tupperware in it. His eyes widened when he saw a sudden shift in the pile, and slammed the door shut just as he heard the mountain of containers collapse. That wasn’t his fault. That shit always happened. 

He grinned when he opened the next cabinet. It contained an inhuman amount of bread products. Loafs of (homemade?) bread, muffins, turnovers, bagels, everything. Wasn’t all of this bound to expire soon? He reached for one of the boxes of muffins just as he heard the elevator ding. 

He let go of the box, spinning around with his fists close to his face, body slightly lowered. Heels clicked out of the elevator.

“Someone's a bit on edge.”

Peter shook himself, and straightened. “Ms. Romanov. What, uh, what are you doing here?”

“I live here,” she shrugged. “Also, FRIDAY told me you left your room.”

“Snitch,” he muttered. “Am I being monitored, or…?”

“Technically. We’re notified if you leave your room during the night in case you’re trying to escape,” she explained. Peter just nodded. He should have expected that, seeing as he  _ was  _ here to be supervised. “Speaking of which, what are you doing?”

Peter turned his head towards the cabinet. “I woke up and felt hungry, so I figured I could scrounge in here.” He raised an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to?”

“Nah, you’re fine. It’s kinda your kitchen now, too. So does this mean you can hear a bit better?”

“Yeah, and I’m able to see now.” He looked around the dim kitchen, and explained, “Everything is pretty blurry and my hearing isn’t at its best, though. But I can see and hear you alright.” He could tell that she was wearing heels and a black outfit, hair up in a ponytail. That was all he could really make out from this far away.

“Have you eaten yet?” He shook his head. “Why don't you come with me? Bucky and I made a midnight snack. Or a 4 a.m. breakfast.”

He didn’t say anything, simply closing the cabinet door behind him and walking towards the woman. She nodded, and they walked into the elevator. Only then did he ask what she and Barnes were doing awake. 

She kept her eyes facing the door. “We couldn't sleep. Nightmares for him, insomnia for me.”

He nodded. To be truthful, he hadn’t heard anyone else talk that openly about their nightly troubles. If asked, he just responded with the basic excuse of homework. MJ and Ned were the only ones who knew about his shit. Ned being the first he would go to when he had a nightmare, and MJ having a bit of insomnia of her own. Maybe that was just an Avengers thing - being able to talk openly about problems with each other. 

The elevator stopped, and he followed Romanov out into the hall. They walked the path to the kitchen, except now Peter could see where he walked earlier. In the kitchen (which matched Wanda’s description perfectly), Barnes was found leaning against the island, forgoing one of the several stools. He bit into a waffle, and tilted his head slightly to face Peter. He set down the half-eaten waffle on a plate and brushed himself off. He was lacking his metal arm. 

“Spider-Man,” he greeted. “I don’t believe we’ve actually met.”

“Nope, I don’t recall fighting you.” Peter slid his eyes over to Romanov, who looked away. 

“I suppose I was a bit more focused on actual fights.”

“As was I,” Peter agreed. “Ms. Romanov brought me down here to eat with you guys?”

Said woman stepped forward once more, and pulled a plate of waffles out of the fridge, explaining, “I can heat these up in the toaster for you.”

“That sounds great,” he started, “but I could have done that on my own upstairs. I’m sensing there’s another reason I’m here with you guys?”

“Well,” Romanov sighed, “You probably have belongings that you need to bring back here. I was thinking that it’d be easier for us to take you out now so you have all your stuff sooner than later.” She tried to hide the hesitancy in her voice, and for the most part, she did. Key word being “most”. Oooh, was the super spy slash trained assassin scared of interacting with little ol’ Spidey? Probably not, but Peter still liked the thought. 

He looked towards Barnes. “Are you coming, too?” The man nodded. Preventative measures, he supposed. Peter could technically take them both on, but he didn’t feel like being a pain this early in the morning. “Alright. When do we leave?” 

The toaster beeped, and Romanov pulled out his waffles. “After you finish these, if you’re okay with that.”

He took the plate, and squinted his eyes at her. “These aren’t, like, poisoned, right?” A valid concern. He didn’t smell anything, but the Avengers probably had access to some undetectable toxins.

She grimaced, shaking her head. He nodded and sunk his teeth into the hot waffle. Oh god, he had forgotten how good waffles were. He struggled to eat them at a normal pace rather than shoving the whole thing into his mouth. Barnes had gone back to eating his own waffles, eyes averted. He seemed like a shy guy. Or maybe he was just like that around Peter. 

Once Peter had finished eating his waffles (like a normal person, mind you.), he carried his plate over to the sink. When he began to wash it, Romanov spoke up again. 

“Why don’t you use the dishwasher?”

He looked down at his hands, and continued to scrub his plate. “Habit, I guess.” She didn’t say anything in response. He searched for the kitchen towel and dried off his plate. He gave it to Romanov, who put it away, and Peter noted which cabinet she put it in. Barnes chose to place his plate in the dishwasher. 

“We ready?” the man asked, turning to face Peter and Romanov. 

Peter nodded. “How are we getting there?” 

“Well, you’re gonna need to lead us. I was thinking you could just swing and we’ll follow you on motorcycle,” Romanov suggested. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you worried I’ll escape?”

She fixed him with a glare. “Please don’t.”

“Chill, man,” Peter chuckled. “This is a pretty cool housing arrangement. I’ll stay here, thank you very much.” He started walking towards the elevator once more. “I’ll get my suit. It’s still in the Medbay.”

Barnes waved his hand in acknowledgement. “FRIDAY’ll take you to the garage once you’re suited up.”

Peter hummed as the doors shut. It was complete silence without anyone to keep him company. The elevator probably had some basic soundproofing. He didn't like it; he could hear the ringing in his ears more with the blaring silence. He sighed, hoping the ride down would be quick.

It was. The doors opened, and he rushed out into the Medbay. He went into what he thought was his room, but it was empty. Furrowing his eyebrows, he went into the one across the hall. In it, there was an unmade bed, his suit still crumpled up on the ground. Ah. Mental Map not so up to date. He picked up the suit, rushing to put it on. He didn’t want to keep the heroes waiting, lest they try to kill him again. Nah, he’s joking. Unless…

As soon as the familiar suit enveloped him, he got into the elevator once more. He had probably used an elevator more times in the past 24 hours than he has in two years. He didn’t push any buttons, or ask FRIDAY to take him anywhere. The elevator just immediately started moving downwards. When he got out, Barnes was in the passenger seat of a Ferrari, Romanov leaning on the hood. 

“So I’ll just head out, and you guys will follow?” he called out. Romanov nodded as she got in the car. The garage door quietly cranked open, and Peter walked out, clicking his wrists together to expand his web shooters before latching onto a close street light. He flung himself into the air, following his Mental Map to 16th street to get his backpack. When he looked behind him mid-swing, he spotted the red of Romanov’s car hot his trail. He turned back around, embracing the cold wind whipping past him. Then he remembered he should probably keep his eyes open so he wouldn’t slam into a telephone pole. That shit hurt. He knew from experience.

He couldn’t make out the street sign for 16th street, but he remembered that he put his backpack in the alley next to the small Mexican joint. When he saw the red banister, he swooped down. Checking behind once more, he saw the red car slow to a stop. He rushed into the alley and moved the dumpster forward a bit, revealing his web-covered backpack. He ripped the day-old webs from the bag and turned to the waiting car to hold the bag up victoriously. He walked over to them and Romanov rolled the window down.

“Is that… everything?” she asked.

Peter snorted. “Nah, we’ve gotta make another stop. Not much else though.” He didn't stick around for her response, instead launching himself into the air once more. He made a quick turn, smirking as he heard Romanov’s tires screech down below.

When he reached his abandoned building, he dropped onto the roof on instinct. Romanov and Barnes both got out of the car, waving at him from the ground, so he jumped down to them. Rising from his squat, Peter walked over to them.

“Is this where you live?” Romanov questioned, looking over his shoulder to check out the rundown building.

“Yeah man, you want a fucking tour or something?” She looked over at Barnes, who shrugged with a quirk in his eyebrows. She nodded at Peter. “Alright, weirdos. I always come in through one of the windows, so…” 

Romanov waved him off. “I can probably climb up. There’s enough openings between the bricks.”

“Uh, yeah, I can’t.” Barnes gestured to his missing arm. 

Peter stepped closer to the man. “You okay if I carry you up there?”

“Is that even safe?”

“Sure. Used to do it with my friends all the time.” Well, he only scaled buildings with MJ a few times, but he swung with her a lot, so it would be fine. “Ms. Romanov, it’s the fourth window up.”

She nodded and walked over to the building, jumping up to the ledge of the first window. Peter looked towards Barnes again, who was observing the situation bemusedly. 

“Mr. Barnes, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to,” Peter assured. 

“No, no. It’s fine. Just not what I thought I’d be doing at 5 a.m. on a Monday morning.” 

“If you’re sure,” Peter shrugged. “Alright, so just hop on my back, yep, like that, and now try to move away.” He felt Barnes try to shift, and fail to do so. “Evidence that I won’t drop you. I can stick to anything, including people, so you're all good.”

“God, this is so fucking weird,” Barnes muttered as Peter jumped onto the wall. Romanov was about halfway to the window, but Peter passed her quickly. Once he reached the familiar window, he dropped Barnes off and moved down to help the woman speed up a bit. She gave him a grateful look, and took his hand. He shoved her through the window and jumped in afterwards. Barnes was standing awkwardly, staring at the commodities of the room. 

Peter brushed himself off, and did a little bow. “Welcome to my humble abode!” The other two were quiet, glancing at each other intermittently. “This is the first room, or the Avoiding Death Room.”

“Why… would it be called that?” Romanov quietly asked. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Peter snorted. “But here is where I attempt to avoid death.” He bustled around, collecting his pile of food. “First-aid, surgeries, passing out, the works. That's my collection of knives, over there in that corner, all of which have been forcefully given to me. Ms. Romanov, I think you might recognize a few.”

She moved closer, bending down to look at the pile of knives of all sizes. “Some of them are mine?” 

“You betcha! I’m not giving them back, though. If you wanted them that badly, you shouldn’t have stabbed me.”

She snapped her head up, eyes wide. “Sorry.”

“No harm done,” he brushed her off. He walked past her, picking up the towel and using it as a bag for the knives.

“Kid, don’t say ‘no harm done’ if there was very obviously harm done,” Barnes advised. 

Peter didn't look up. “Mr. Barnes, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me a kid. Super condescending, y’know? I think I’ve moved past that title.”

“Right, sorry,” Barnes cleared his throat. “Then I don’t really think you need to call me Mr. Barnes, yeah? Bucky’s fine.”

Romanov stepped in. “Same for me. You can call me Natasha.”

“Shoo! Leveled up all around, eh?” Peter smiled, not unkindly. “Alright Bucky, Natasha. There’s another room.” He led them into a room across the hall, directing them to step over a fallen beam. The door was hanging off its hinges, so he just scooted past it like usual. He walked straight to the small pile of clothes, allowing Natasha and Bucky to wander around. 

“What is this stuff?” Bucky asked. 

“Momentos, you could say. Don’t touch anything, let me handle it.” He shoved the few clothes into a garbage bag that laid next to them, and turned around to face the pair. 

Natasha was looking at the picture of him and his parents. “Who are these people?”

Peter walked over, picking up the frame and placing it in his backpack. “Baby is me, the man and woman are my parents.”

Natasha looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you said you didn't have a mom or dad.” Oh, cool, apparently she remembered everything from the little interview. 

“‘Twas just a nice way of saying they’re dead.” He moved to pick up his collection of notes from Matt. 

“Ah.”

He was allowed to finish collecting his things in peace. Whether the pair was being silent out of respect, pity, or pure awkwardness, he didn’t know. Peter would probably be back in the apartment at some point, seeing as he wouldn’t stay at the tower  _ forever. _ He just didn’t want to leave his only reminders of his old life in an empty dilapidated building. His backpack was now stuffed full, and he threw the bag of clothes over his shoulder. 

“I’m done here, so I’ll just hop down and drop these off on the ground. Bucky, should I carry you again?” The man nodded, looking away slightly. Peter moved to the window, and jumped out, landing in a squat. He set his stuff down before shooting a web at the window ledge. He allowed himself to be pulled up and dove through the window. “Natasha? You want me to take you, too?”

“I’ll be alright,” she dismissed as she made her way to the window. She stepped out, and Peter watched as she climbed down slowly. Peter walked over to Bucky, who assumed the position on his back. Peter went out of the window as well, once again quickly passing Natasha. He was almost to the ground when she flew past him, having jumped off at the halfway mark. He looked down as she landed in a roll. 

“As much as I’d love to be on the ground again,” Bucky quietly said, “please don’t jump off with me on your back.”

“Oh, no, I think it’s a stellar idea. I’ll do the roll, too.” 

Bucky snorted. “Test my durability, eh?” 

“Someone’s got to.” Peter reached the ground and allowed Bucky to unstick from his body. He grabbed his bags, and followed the man to the parked car, where Natasha was waiting. “Shotgun!” he called out. Running past Bucky, he dove into the open door of the passenger seat. Natasha grinned at him, having been the one to open it. 

“Alright, Spidey. It’s been a lovely adventure,” she told him, walking around to the driver’s seat. Bucky grumbled as he got into the back seat. 

“Call me Peter.” Cult initiation part four and five, baby. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo! bonding! more overusing of the cult joke! i swear i won't abandon this thing guys, so stick with me.  
> comments and kudos appreciated <3


	9. The Orange Is Not the Main Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> writer's culture is looking up the november calendar from 2017 so the date in the story matches your timeline  
> TWs: more scar talk, Peter has an unhealthy thought process about skipping a meal

“Foggy!”

“What is it you require, darling?”

“Fuck off,” Matt grumbled as he strode towards Foggy’s desk. “Not in the mood.”

“Then maybe you should be more polite when yelling my name, yeah?” Matt could sense the other man set his head in his hands mockingly.

“Pete didn’t come by yesterday.”

Foggy straightened. “He does that sometimes though, doesn’t he?”

 _“Rarely,”_ Matt stressed. The teen tried his hardest to come on Sundays, and if he couldn’t, he stuck a sticky note explanation on the coat hanger in the firm. Matt would run his fingertips across the ink, letting himself feel the words written in pen. There was no note this time, and Peter didn't have any event going on yesterday to Matt’s knowledge. 

“I’m sure he’ll barge in today,” Foggy assured, trying to keep his voice light, but Matt was able to pick up on the undercurrent of worry. Good. Matt wasn’t alone in this. Usually, he didn't let himself be concerned with such small matters. But this was Peter they were talking about. Matt was fond of the kid, as were Foggy and Karen, and seeing him during his personal time was often the highlight of his week. 

“I didn’t see him on patrol last night, either.” Technically, he didn't see Peter _any_ night, but luckily Foggy didn’t comment on his slip.

“Wha- Well, uh, m-maybe he was just taking a small break,” Foggy stammered, even though they both knew the statement had little truth in it. Peter hardly ever took breaks, the little shit. If he wasn’t constantly working to help everyone he could, guilt weighed down on him like he had to shoulder the weight of the world. Missing a patrol was a big deal when talking about Spider-Man. Something bad must have happened if he opted out on swinging through the air at night.

“Logically,” Matt started as he paced around the room, waving his cane through the air, “I know that we didn’t schedule to meet or anything. But I couldn't hear his heartbeat.” He snapped his head towards Foggy. “Fogs, he wasn’t out at _all.”_

Foggy inhaled sharply. “It’s fine,” he frantically said, though it sounded like he was reassuring himself more that he was Matt. “It’s fine. He may have just been busy.”

“Maybe,” Matt sighed, knowing full well that he didn’t agree with Foggy whatsoever. Matt knows Peter. He’s not an idiot, he’s well aware the boy’s got some shit going on. He almost regrets teaching Peter how to control his biological reactions to lying because he could no longer tell if Peter told the truth when he claimed he was fine. But he didn't need to analyze the teen’s biological tells to know that something was up. He has been extremely underweight for ages, even though Peter always swore he got enough to eat. His breathing picked up when someone offhandedly mentioned his home. His figure was constantly tense, whether it was during patrol, or just hanging out in Matt’s apartment. Matt didn’t know how to comfort people, so the only thing he could think of was a hug. But he didn’t want to cross any boundaries - Peter often flinched if someone got too close. Physical contact seemed to be a no-go, especially when he remembered he wasn't too touchy himself. It’s not like he regularly initiated contact with others. 

Matt gave a short wave to Foggy as he walked into his own office. He threw down his cane, and landed heavily into his chair. Like a child, he thumped his head down into his crossed arms that rested on his desk. Pete had to come today, or Matt was going to lose it. 

-

FRIDAY’s voice filtered through the darkness of his room. “The time is 6:15 a.m. It is Monday, November 27th. You need to wake up for school.”

Harley groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. Nonetheless, he pulled himself up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He ripped the sheets off of him, the sudden chill causing him to shiver. Nothing like a good ol’ spike to his system to wake him up.

Speaking of which.

Harley jerked up from his slouched position, suddenly remembering what all had happened yesterday. Spider-Man was here. Peter was in a room just one down from his. Holy _fuck._

He jumped out of bed, first thought being to check on Peter. But then he looked down at his ragged appearance and winced. Clothes lined with wrinkles, sleep lines on his bare arms, evidence of drool running down his chin. Not the best look for trying to romance a superhero. He could at least brush his teeth, put on a pair of actual pants. When he looked in the mirror of his bathroom, he decided that his hair needed a once over as well. It was getting too long, the edges curling up past the tip of his ears. 

After rushing through his morning routine, which did not include a shower (he was a night shower kinda guy), he left his room to creep up to Peter’s. He didn’t know why he was sneaking, it was his own home. Plus, Peter would need to get up if he had to go to school. If he was even going to school, that is. Harley didn’t know the extent of the other teen’s freedom here. 

He knocked rhythmically on the door to Peter’s room, and was met with silence. He waited a few more seconds, before calling out Peter’s name. No response. Maybe his hearing was still too impaired to hear him. Harley shrugged, slightly put out, and shuffled down the hallway to reach the kitchen.

He turned the corner, and let out a small shriek. A manly one, of course. 

Peter, who was previously sitting on the floor and staring up at the ceiling, whipped his head around towards Harley. Spidey clicked his wrists together, and Harley watched as the slim metal bands on his wrists unfolded to reveal familiar web shooters. Said web shooters were aimed at him before he could even blink. 

Harley stiffened, and took a small step back. He slowly raised his arm and gave a small wave. “Mornin’.”

Peter blinked, face lighting up in recognition. The teen took a step back, hastily lowering his arms as he spewed apologies.

“Harley?” he squeaked, somewhat adorably. “Holy shit, I am _so_ sorry! I really didn't mean to do that, I was just kinda distracted and it's still kinda early and I didn’t think you would be up so when I like heard you I went on instinct I guess but then it was _you_ so that was a mistake and god I'm just so sorry.” He took a sharp inhale and held it, panic written all over his features.

Harley just blinked, processing what Peter just threw his way. Did he say all that in one breath?

“Peter, it’s fine,” Harley assured. “‘S not what I expected upon waking up, but hey, not the weirdest thing that’s happened at six in the mornin’ ‘round here.” Harley felt his face heat up, suddenly all too aware that his good ol’ fashioned southern accent flared in the mornings. He cleared his throat. “Was just lookin’ for you anyway.”

Peter tilted his head to the side like a puppy. Hey, why were boys allowed to be this cute? “How come?”

“Just wanted to check in,” he explained as he walked over to the fridge. “See how your first night went here.”

“Oh. It was fine.” Peter looked like he was contemplating something, then shrugged. “Got up a bit early, and Natasha and Bucky took me to get all my stuff to bring here.”

Harley bent down to search in the fridge. “Yeah, what time didya get up? You have school or somethin’?” He grabbed one of the oranges from a lower compartment and stood to face Peter once more.

“Or something,” Peter answered, running his fingers through his hair. The teen’s hair was fluffier than yesterday, with soft curls reaching down over the tips of his ears in an uneven cut. He must have showered. “Got up ‘round three, I guess. And I graduated early a few years ago, so no school.”

Harley’s eyes widened, fingers pausing in their quest to peel the orange. “You’ve been up since three? How are you okay?”

Peter chuckled dryly. “Who said I was?”

Warning lights flashed in Harley’s brain, letting him know that Peter was Probably Not Okay. Though, he has been doing this superhero gig for a few years. And, as Harley learned while the team was interrogating him, it didn’t seem like Peter had much family left, if any. That thought left a sour taste in his mouth, but what did he expect from the teenage vigilante? For him to _not_ have a tragic backstory? Unlikely. Peter was dealing with his own shit, and Harley wasn’t about to dig.

“Fair,” was what he ended up saying. “You said you went to get your stuff, yeah?”

Peter nodded as he stepped backwards to lean on the counter. “Yeah, swung by my lil apartment to gather all the moving boxes. Made Natasha and Bucky carry ‘em for me.”

“Really?”

“‘Course not,” Peter raised an eyebrow with a slight smirk. “What I own probably wouldn’t fill up a whole box anyway.”

Harley shoved an orange slice in his mouth to prevent his growing concern from spilling out. Peter was saying all of this stuff like it was _normal._ Harley thought his life wasn’t really… the Best. His father left him, his mom, and his sister when he was seven. It left a lasting impact on him. Not only did he have to grow up without a dad, but their financial situation was made a tad bit tighter. Between that and the rampant homophobia of Rose Hill, Tennessee, his time spent growing up was a little rough. But the longer he spent with Peter, and the more he learned about this hero the same age as him, he was growing more and more thankful for the many good aspects of his life.

“So,” Peter went on, interrupting the lull in the conversation, “you have school today, yeah?”

“Yup,” Harley affirmed as he swallowed the orange slice. “You said you graduated early?”

“Yep,” Peter said, popping the p. “Went to Midtown, so I know a lot of people in your grade.”

Harley’s eyebrows shot up. “Dude, you graduated early from _Midtown?_ How the fuck is that even possible?” It was literally a STEM school for advanced teens. Harley kept up well, keeping a quite above average spot among his classmates. But that was because he could also keep up with Tony Stark in the lab. Peter had to be on a completely different level.

A light pink dusted Peter’s cheeks, and if that wasn’t the cutest shit Harley had ever seen. “I, uh, worked pretty hard, I guess,” he explained, running a hand through his hair once more. Nervous habit? “Being on the Academic Decathlon helped speed things up a bit.”

“Oh man, I love the AcaDec team. Well, ‘cept for this one dude,” Harley commented with a grimace. “Flash Thompson, you heard of him?”

Peter let out a full on laugh, which was the first of which Harley had heard. “That idiot’s still around?”

Harley raised an eyebrow, attempting to ignore the warm feeling Peter’s laugh sent coursing through his body. “I take it you know him.”

“Unfortunately. The bastard bullied me for years.”

The corners of Harley’s mouth tilted downwards. “He’s always been like that?”

“Always,” Peter nodded. “We went to the same middle school too. Shoved me down the stairs in the first week.”

Harley’s face twisted in disgust. God, he hated bullies. He had a few unsuccessful bullies back home; they were unsuccessful because they soon learned that Harley wouldn’t hesitate to beat them to the ground.

“Why didn’t you fight back? You are clearly, uh, capable.”

Peter shrugged. “I can’t hurt a civilian. Especially if he’s a kid.” Peter’s eyes unfocused slightly, like he was thinking of something else. “What if I lost control? I could have killed him with a flick of the wrist.” He shook himself. “Wasn’t worth it. If he focused on hurting me, then he wouldn’t go for other people. According to you, he’s still being a shithead, and I’m betting that’s ‘cause I'm not there to take the fall.”

Harley popped another slice into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “That was a really selfless thing to do, but christ, pretty stupid, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter smirked as he pulled himself up to sit on the counter, “it’s not like he could ever do much damage. Any physical evidence from our little altercations were gone by the end of the day.”

“Shoo. No scars or nothin’?” Harley winced as soon as the words left his mouth. “Sorry. Insensitive. You don't gotta answer.”

Peter waved him off, but he ran his fingers through his hair yet again. “Nah, ‘s alright. ‘Course I’ve got scars. I get scars from all of my injuries.” He pointed out a long-since healed notch on his forehead. “Edge of a table sliced me on the way down.”

“All your injuries, huh?” Harley murmured. Everything from a small burn from a pan to stab wounds. That meant that the evidence of the repulsor blast injury from Harley was still there. It probably covered most of his shoulder, laid over many other scars. Peter’s long sleeves and sweatpants covered the majority of his body, but even as Harley looked at his hands and feet, he noticed scars running across the surface of his skin. He lifted his eyes to the other teens neck, noticing for the first time a long, thin white line running from one side of his neck to the other. Harley wondered what scars lined the rest of his body. Was there any bit of skin that wasn’t marred with damaged skin? Peter’s been doing this gig for at _least_ a year. In fact, Harley could remember catching a glimpse of him on TV when he was still in Rose Hill maybe two years ago. So there were bound to be just. So many goddamn scars. 

Harley belatedly realized that he was imagining Peter without his shirt on, while Peter was just staring at him with a slightly amused look. Heat rising to his face once more, he cleared his mind and scratched at the nape of his neck.

Peter tilted his head at him. “Don’t you have to go to, like, school?”

“I-” Harley turned to look at the analog clock on the wall of their kitchen. Wanda picked it out - the face of the clock held an artistic depiction of two little cartoon frogs dancing together on it. It was nearing 6:45. “Shit!”

Harley quickly shoved the last two orange slices in his mouth, and rushed over to the trash can to dump the orange peel in the trash. Peter watched him with a quirk in his eyebrows, the slightest hint of a smile showing on his face. 

“What time do you usually leave?” Peter asked as Harley dried his hands off. 

“In about eight minutes.” Peter gave a light snort. “May be specific, but it’s consistent.”

“Doesn’t school start at like, 7:40? Or have they changed that since I’ve been there.”

Harley shook his head. “Nah, but I like to be early. Me and a friend like to hang out on one of the benches. Plus, New York traffic is a bitch.”

Peter hummed low in his throat. “Got me there.” 

Harley stopped in his tracks, very suddenly remembering an important detail from the past day.

“How, uh, how’s your vision?”

Peter shook his head, laughing. “Blurry. I can tell when you blush, though. That part’s pretty clear.”

“I-” Harley didn’t know what to say to that. The residual red in his cheeks felt to still be fading away. Yikes. “Alright!” He turned, the voice crack causing him to exit the kitchen as fast as he could. 

“Have a good day at school, Harls!” Came the lighthearted mocking voice of Peter. That boy had no idea that Harley would be thinking about the nickname for the rest of the day. 

-

Hey everyone, Peter would just like to say that he’s a complete idiot.

 _Harls?_ What the fuck, Peter. You barely even know him.

Peter didn’t really mean to call him that. It just kind of slipped out. Teasing Harley felt a bit natural after their conversation. The other teen was awkward, but no worse than Peter himself. I mean, who hears someone coming and immediately aims a (non-lethal) weapon at them. Awkward superheroes, that’s who. To be fair, Harley startled him. Peter was doing perfectly fine just staring into space on the kitchen floor. He must have been like that ever since he got back to the tower and put his stuff away. Not _away_ away, really. All of his clothes were still in his bag, and the only things he took out of his backpack were his knives and the picture of him and his parents. He didn’t want to get too settled here - who knows how long he’ll actually stay. This wasn’t his home. He hadn't had a home since May died. That small apartment in Queens was his home, and it felt like he was betraying May and Ben if he thought of anywhere else as home. 

But whatever. Harley came along and talked to him as he methodically peeled an orange. And aggressively ate it. The guy must really like oranges. Like usual, Peter probably overshared. But he didn't think he gave too much away. Just talked about school, and his scars for some reason. That was the second time they came up in like, less than a full day. Some of them didn't bother him too much, unless he was having a Bad Day™. It's fine. 

Peter jumped off of the counter, hesitating before he left the kitchen. Technically, he was a bit hungry. But the amount of food he was eating was starting to make him uncomfortable. The thought of eating another breakfast made him feel a bit selfish. He kinda had two dinners yesterday, too. Did he really deserve to eat again? He would sometimes go more than a full day without eating when he was on the streets. It’s not like he’ll die if he’s a bit hungry. He can just wait until the team eats again. 

He didn’t know what to do now. His normal daily routine just involved the average New York homeless stuff. He had a corner that he sat against hoping to gain some pity from some tourist. It was shameful, but did he have any dignity left? Probably not. Other than that, he patrolled. It was a simple life for a simple lad. Sometimes, if he was really lucky, some random small business gave him a small job to do. Take out their trash, run to the store for them. It wasn’t common, but it happened. They gave him a few dollars to do so, so he would get some clearance food. Close to the expiration date, you know? One time he saved up enough to get a blanket from a second-hand store. 

But now? What was there to do? He probably couldn't go out unsupervised. Hanging out with the Avengers would be awkward. And what did they even do during the day, anyway? Work out? Losers. 

He’d just go to his room for now. Maybe Wanda could visit him later, but staring into space was a nice pass time until then. It was almost seven, so it was a long day ahead of him.

He started walking down the hall, but was interrupted by a familiar tingling on the back of his neck and a less familiar… foot?

Yeah. Foot through the wall. There was a foot, just, moving through the wall. What the fuck. Okay, now it was a leg, and Peter started moving backwards. Too weird for this early in the morning. But he couldn't get away soon enough, and a whole ass… person came through the wall. Except the person was red. 

“Mr… uh, Vision?”

The android turned his head towards Peter. “Hello, Spider-Man.”

“What’s uh, with the wall? Door too inconvenient for ya?”

“Ah, apologies. A habit, I suppose.” Vision’s lips quirked up. “Plus, it’s fun to scare people sometimes.”

“The Avengers are probably used to it, right?” If this was a habit for Vision, Peter couldn’t see how much satisfaction he got from scaring them. 

“They should be. But occasionally, Tony will be too occupied to notice my presence until I’m right next to him. Steve and Clint still think it’s weird.”

“I don't blame them,” Peter muttered. “Where’re you headed?”

“No where, actually,” Vision explained. “I just heard you coming. I figured I would see if I could scare you.”

“Nah, just weirded me out a bit. Already felt that something was going to happen.”

“A precognition ability?” the android asked, sounding almost curious. Were androids capable of being curious?

Peter lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Sort of? I can’t really explain it.”

Vision nodded. “That is fair. Well, Spider-Man, tell me if you need anything.” He started to move back through the wall.

“Oh!” Peter exclaimed, and Vision turned his head. “Would you happen to know of anything I could do around here?”

“Well, several of the Avengers are usually awake by now. You may go down to the common floor to see what they are up to.”

“Alright, thanks Vision.”

“Of course, Spider-Man.”

Peter walked to the elevator, thinking about what it’ll be like to hold a normal conversation with an Avenger. He was only on good terms with a few of them, Natasha and Bucky being the newest additions to his Cult. He still didn’t feel totally comfortable around Natasha, like there was always a feeling that he wasn’t safe around her. But she was working to show her regret, he could tell. He had faith in her. 

“FRIDAY? Could you take me to the common floor, please?”

“Of course,” came the Irish-accented voice. 

“And could you also tell me which of the Avengers are down there right now?”

“It seems to only be Ms. Romanov, Mr. Barton, and Mr. Wilson. Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, and Boss are also awake, but the former two are out on their morning run, and Boss is in his lab.”

Peter nodded, preparing himself to face the two men. “Thanks, Fri.” He paused, thinking. “Can I call you Fri? Sorry, it just seemed natural.”

“Of course, Spider-Man. That is what the team calls me.”

Oh look, something he had in common with the Avengers. Besides the saving the world gig and the trauma that came with it. And probably an enjoyment of waffles. 

The elevator doors slid open to reveal an empty hallway. But if Peter strained his still impaired ears, he could hear the sounds of laughter echoing throughout the floor. He stepped out of the elevator, walking past the empty kitchen. As he moved down the hall, the laughter only got louder, so he assumed he was heading in the right direction. The path felt vaguely familiar, and Peter soon realized this was the way Wanda took him to the living room. The door leading to it was wide open already, revealing a sickening domestic scene.

Barton and Wilson were on the floor, leaned up against the huge couch, with gaming controllers in their grips. Natasha was actually on the couch, propping her feet up on Barton’s shoulder. She was actually staring directly at Peter, but her eyes held no accusation in them. Instead, there was a gentle smile on her face, her eyes glinting with mirth. 

“Hey, Natasha,” he announced his presence. 

As she gave a small wave, both Wilson and Barton startled, the latter accidentally dropping his remote. They turned to look at where he was leaning up against the door frame. 

“Hey, паук,” she greeted. “Care to join us?”

Peter slid his eyes between the two men, who were glancing up at Natasha. “I don't see why not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "паук" is spider (russian) bc i love that trope. btw in this story, foggy knows pete is spidey cause he's not an idiot and he connected the dots between the peter that always hangs out with matt and spider-man. matt doesn't have many friends. karen overheard foggy and matt while they were arguing about it. peter knows foggy knows, and no one knows karen knows. not really spoilers, just clarification.  
> comments and kudos appreciated <3


	10. Plotless Chapters Are Valid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty guys for the love <3  
> bros this story moves so slow. it is day 2 with the avengers. also this chap is kinda long for some reason lmao  
> TWs: outsider POV of Peter's issues with food restraint, mention of past abuse

Peter didn’t ask for a controller. Instead, he just walked over the couch, quietly sitting himself down next to Nat. He refused to meet the gazes of Clint and Sam.

It’s not like Natasha expected him to. In fact, she was slightly shocked that he took her up on her offer in the first place. She knew he must have been getting slightly overwhelmed with the constant introductions to new team members. Proper introductions, at least. Better than just showing up to fight him on one of his patrols.

Nat felt the tension radiating off of Peter. She felt it when they were collecting his minimal belongings, and she felt it in the car, regardless of the fact that he told them his name. It was like he was constantly anticipating something, never feeling completely safe. He tried to hide his fidgets, but Nat picked up on them. His bare toes wiggled slightly. He would scratch lightly at his inner arms occasionally, rubbing the fabric of his long sleeves against his skin. He blinked a lot, but Natasha felt that had more to do with his quality of vision rather than his apparent anxiety.

Peter continued to stay silent even as Sam and Clint resumed their game of Mario Kart. They had never paused it, letting themselves fall behind as they ogled at Peter. Now, they were trying to catch back up from 11th and 12th place. The race ended with them in the top five, and they had a silent agreement to set down their controllers.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, what brings you here this early in the morning?”

Peter shifted his head slightly to look at Sam. She tracked his line of sight, and noticed it didn’t quite reach Sam’s eyes, instead landing on one of the man’s ears. Bad at eye contact. 

“Mr. Vision told me I could probably find something to do down here with you guys. I was bored.” He gave the illusion of answering the question fully, but Nat caught on to the fact that he didn’t say anything about the earliness of the day.

Clint snorted. “‘Mr. Vision.’ Seems a bit too formal, yeah?”

“He was like that with Bucky and me, too,” she jumped in. “Called me Ms. Romanov and him Mr. Barnes.”

Peter glanced at her, his lips teasing a grin. “Would hate to be disrespectful.”

“Oh, does that make us Mr. Barton and Mr. Wilson, then?” Clint asked, though not completely teasingly. It was Clint’s way of trying to understand Peter a bit more. 

At the teen’s nod, Sam’s face twisted. “Oh god,” he groaned. “That makes me feel so goddamn old.”

Peter raised a single eyebrow. “Dude, you  _ are  _ old.”

“This is slander. Call me Sam, I’m begging.”

“All you had to do was ask, man,” Peter shrugged. “Y’all make a big deal out of first names.”

_ And you don’t? _ Nat thought. But no, that’s not really fair. Peter’s name was the last semblance of his secret identity. It was perfectly expected that he wouldn’t want to tell everyone immediately. And yet, that was the first question Nat asked him. Her brain was never going to let the memory of her threatening to torture a teenager die.

“Whatever,” Clint said as he picked up his controller once more. “Drop the formality, yeah? I like Clint.”

“He likes birdbrain too,” Sam grinned, nudging the man beside him. 

Clint gasped. “Says the dude who calls himself ‘The Falcon’. You  _ actually  _ fly around, you nerd.” 

“That just means I actually deserve a birdy title. You just shoot shit with arrows,  _ Hawkeye.” _

Clint wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it.” Nat swore these two dumbasses could argue about anything. She turned to say something about the idiocy of it all to Peter, but stopped short when she saw the fond look in his eyes and his small grin. His toes had stopped their movement.

“Whatever,” Sam scoffed. “Coconut Mall again?”

“Sure, just, uh, one question.” Clint twisted to look back at Nat and Peter. “When did Spidey here get on a first-name basis with you?”

Nat glanced towards Peter, who shrugged. “Me and Bucky took him out this morning to get all his stuff,” she answered. 

Clint furrowed his eyebrows. “But you were here when I woke up. That was around six.”

Peter spoke this time. “We may have gone out around four.”

Sam’s eyes widened slightly. “Jesus, man. Do spiders not need sleep or something?”

“Yeah, well, why’re you guys up so early?”

“Habit,” they answered in unison. 

“I would always have to get up early in the military. Couldn’t break out of that routine when I got back,” Sam explained. 

“I’ve gotta leave early for missions a lot,” Clint told him. “Eventually, it just became the norm.”

“Well, let’s just say doing shit at four is the norm for me, too,” Peter shrugged. “It all worked out, seeing as Natasha and Bucky were awake.” 

Natasha narrowed her eyes. She and Bucky were up ‘cause of the pure shit running around in their minds. She had a rather distinct feeling that Peter didn’t just “wake up” like he had said. 

“Whatever you say, man,” Clint said, finally turning back to the screen. He pressed the play button, and it started to count down. Sam gave one last look at Peter, before turning away as well. 

Nat knew that they were the best at the Coconut Mall course. They hardly had to try at it. Sam may not be a spy, but that didn't mean he didn’t know how to smartly make his way through certain situations. He could play this course in his sleep, which also meant that he was able to ask Peter questions while still playing the game. 

“So how’re you feeling, Spidey?” he asked, eyes still glued to the screen. Nat slid her eyes over to the boy once more and watched as he carded his fingers through his hair. 

“Alright, I guess,” the teen sighed. “I think the ringing in my ears will be completely gone by the end of the day. I have no idea about my vision, but it’s getting better.”

Sam nodded. “And how’s your stomach doing? Are you good with the amount of food you’re eating?”

At this, Peter inhaled sharply, but quietly. Nat furrowed her eyebrows slightly. Was it that bad?

“Good, good,” Peter said casually, the complete opposite of his immediate reaction. “Still pretty small portions, but I can control myself enough.”

He wasn’t lying. So what caused the slight gasp? Was Nat just reading too much into his reactions? Maybe, but she still wanted to make sure he was doing okay.

“You last ate when you had waffles with Bucky, yeah?” she asked.

“Sounds about right.” His toes were wiggling once more. 

“Sam, wanna make breakfast for me and Spidey?” Peter looked at her, starting to say something.

“Sure. I’ve gotta eat, too,” he affirmed before Peter could get a word out. Nat wondered if the man was picking up on her strategy, or if he was genuinely hungry. She was trying to make Peter more comfortable with eating by saying she was hungry as well. If her suspicions were correct, he was trying to restrain himself from eating his appropriate amount of food. That should make sense, seeing as he was trying to not get sick. But something about his reaction wasn’t sitting well with her. It’s been three hours since he last ate. For someone with an extremely enhanced metabolism, that was more than it sounded. Steve and Bucky had to eat that often, and Peter has been implying that his metabolism might be faster than theirs.

Clint crossed the finish line first, letting out loud whoops. Sam finished almost a second later, and shoved Clint over as some form of payback. Natasha’s cross legs fell off the man’s shoulder as he went down. Sam sped out of the room seconds before Clint ran after him, yelling threats.   
Natasha yawned, and stood up as well. She looked at Peter, who had yet to move.

“Come on, let’s eat, yeah?” She held out her hand, hoping for some reason that he would take it. He did, and she felt a shiver run through his body. His eyes fluttered shut for the shortest millisecond before they flew open once more as he stood up. Odd. She started walking, not dropping his hand. She wanted to test something. 

Peter didn’t drop her hand, either. He kept glancing at their linked hands as they walked, but never looking at her. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw that he was biting the inside of his cheek. He had the slightest smile though, so she doubted the action was negative. 

Right before they entered the kitchen, she let go of his hand, a quick apology leaving her lips to act as though she hadn’t meant to hold on. The teen yanked his hand away, shoving it in his pocket, but otherwise showed no outward emotion. Nat was thinking there might be something going on with Peter’s frequency of physical contact, but she’ll look into it more later. For now, she had to focus on getting some more food in the kid. 

“Are you sure I can eat with you guys?” he asked, showing a small amount of hesitancy for the first time since they've met. Other than when he asked if she was going to poison him, that is. But she had a feeling he might’ve been a bit sarcastic there as well.

She raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Why wouldn't you?” She nodded to Sam as she sat on one the stools. The man was pulling out strips of bacon from their fridge. 

“I mean, it’s not like I’m an honored guest here. I’m only living with you guys because you’ll get in trouble with SHIELD otherwise, right?” He took a seat down next to her. 

“Well, yeah,” she allowed. “But it’s not like we were gonna throw you in a prison cell. We aren't enemies anymore.”

The teen shrugged. “‘S kinda what I expected. It’s what usually happens when someone gets kidnapped,” he nonchalantly commented. 

Yeesh. He was relentless in making them feel bad about that. As he should, honestly. But god, if her mind wasn’t beating her up about that enough already. 

“Sorry,” she said, trying her hardest to express her genuinity. “We were just doing what we thought was right.”

He waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Still sucks a bit, but I’ll drop it.”

Clint suddenly dropped himself down on the other side of Peter, and the teen turned his legs away slightly. Clint drummed his fingers against the edge of the island to a tune only he heard. 

“So kid, what’re the plans for today?” he asked, not interrupting the rhythm of his fingers. 

“Please don’t call me kid,” Peter sighed, as if he’s had to say it way too much. Seeing as he said it to Bucky just a few hours ago, she figured he probably did. “And I guess I don’t really know. I figured I could just hang with Wanda if she isn’t busy.”

“Good plan, good plan,” Clint allowed. “But Monday is one of our team training days. I think it’d be cool if you joined us.”

Peter knit his eyebrows. “If it's a  _ team  _ training day, then why would I be invited? In case you couldn’t tell, I’m not an Avenger.”

Sam jumped in from where he was cooking bacon on the stove. “Maybe not, but you’re a superhero. It makes sense for you to train with us.”

“Moving up from real fighting to play fighting, I see,” Peter muttered. Natasha’s lips quirked up slightly. He wasn’t wrong. “Well,” he said louder, “I don’t really see why not. I didn’t have any big plans going on.”

“Cool!” Clint exclaimed, slapping his hands on the surface of the island. Peter’s head ticked towards Nat slightly, avoiding the sound. “We usually meet in the gym around four so we can shower and have dinner afterwards. See you then!” Clint pulled himself up, walking towards the elevator. 

“Don’t you need to eat?” Peter called after him.

“Nah, I already ate!” Clint responded as the elevator started to close. At Peter’s slight frown, she berated Clint in her head. That man had no tact sometimes. 

“Well I’m still hungry,” she made sure to say, “so Sam? Better make enough for all three of us.”

“That’s what I was planning on,” he called over his shoulder. “There’s gonna be a bit extra because Clint doesn’t tell me anything, apparently.”

“Fine with us,” she nodded, nudging Peter slightly. Her eyebrows shot up when he flinched away. There were only two sides of this kid, eh? He quickly corrected himself, not saying anything. 

She chose to not mention it, seeing as Peter obviously didn’t want to talk about it. But in her head, she was theorizing, as was her habit. Touch starved, yet touch averse? No, touch aversion didn’t seem quite right - he was perfectly willing to grab hold of her hand. But she’s never seen him initiate any contact. Did the contact have to be offered? Consent needed to be given? That was likely, especially if his past contained trauma, which it  _ definitely _ did. Her mind echoed with the memory of him nonchalantly mentioning his experience with torture. The amount of family members he’d lost bounced around in her head, along with the reminder that he was only 17. There were bound to be lasting effects that came from those experiences, and it was likely that issues with touch would be one of them. She would have to make sure to ask from now on. The Avengers were like a family, and with that, communication was key. Everyone knew everyone else’s triggers, from simple phrases, to where and how they got touched, to hearing a certain song. She had just gotten used to being familiar with the boundaries of her friends, and forgot that she needed to learn Peter’s.

She blinked as a plate filled with bacon was set in between her and Peter, one loaded with scrambled eggs soon following it. Sam sat down across the island, setting the final plate down, this one having a stack of toast on it. 

“I didn’t even see you make this stuff,” Peter commented. 

“One of my many talents,” Sam smirked with a slight hand flourish. 

Nat hopped out of her seat. “You forgot to get plates, birdman.” She walked to one of the cabinets and pulled three large plates out. She slid open the drawer below it, gathering forks as well.

“Oh, I have to do everything around here?” he called, mocking frustration.

“You know what they say,” she said as she set the plates down. “Men belong in the kitchen.”

“Shouldn’t I be cooking something, then?” Peter asked.

“If you really want to,” she shrugged. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Peter just shook his head, a light smile gracing his features. But he still hadn’t reached for any food. Sam was loading his plate up, and Nat had already picked up a few pieces of bacon herself. 

“Can you not reach the plates?” she asked, looking pointedly at the last plate not even a foot away from him. Why was he waiting? Was he really not going to eat?

“Oh, sorry,” was all he allowed as he reached for a plate. Nat nodded, and checked the amount of food he was picking up. He had a little less than her, but it was an adequate breakfast for someone getting accustomed to eating again. “Thanks, Sam.”

They chose to eat in silence, the quiet only being a little awkward. It was a little different from the chatterbox Spider-Man she had come to know, but she guessed it would be exhausting to be  _ on _ all the time. The quietness allowed for the sound of the elevator arriving to cut through the air loudly. They all looked up from their plates to see who had just arrived. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter reach for one of his wrists where she knew his web shooters laid.

His hand drifted away when the doors opened to release a frantic looking Wanda. When her gaze landed on Peter, the tension drained out of her. 

“O слава богу,” she breathed out. Nat recognized the Ukrainian that the younger woman sometimes let slip out. “P- uh, Spidey, I was just looking for you.”

He grinned. “Seems like a common theme this morning.”

Wanda bustled forward, blurting, “You weren’t in your room like I thought you’d be so I just got scared because I thought you had left or something because it’s still pretty early and I just expected you to still be sleeping but you weren’t so I panicked.” She quickly drew in a breath, looking like she was working to control her heart rate. 

“Sorry, Wanda,” he sheepishly apologized. “I just got up pretty early. I’ll tell ya about it later.”

She sighed. “No, no, it’s alright. Just thinking irrationally.” She stepped closer to him. “Could I have a hug?”

Peter startled, which was Natasha was expecting him to do. “I, uh. Why? I mean, sure, yeah, but why?”

Wanda wrapped his arms around Peter, and the teen immediately closed his eyes, burying his head in her shoulder. It looked like it wasn’t a conscious act, but he was soaking in the contact like a sponge. Nat saw his hands tremble ever so slightly as they reached up to lay on Wanda’s back. Nat glanced at Sam, who had begun to distractedly fiddle with his fork, and saw him looking on with his eyebrows furrowed. He turned to meet Nat’s eyes, a question gleaming in his own, and she just shrugged. He nodded, and looked down to eat once more. She could explain her theory to him later. 

Wanda released him after a second, and Peter untangled his arms from her. When Nat looked into his eyes, she noticed they shone slightly. Did… did the boy have tears in his eyes? Concern bubbled in her gut, along with a feeling she thought got locked away long ago. Nope, she wasn’t feeling maternal towards this kid who probably hated her. That wasn’t going to happen. 

“No reason really,” Wanda finally answered, moving away from Peter. “I was just worried, and I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Ah,” Peter breathed, before he straightened himself, staring at his food. He shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 

Wanda walked over to one of the cabinets to pull out her own plate. “Is it okay if I have some, too?” she asked, gesturing to the food laid out. 

Sam nodded his head, quickly swallowing. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead. Made extra.”

She smiled at him and snatched a few spoonfuls of eggs and a piece of toast. She dropped down into the seat next to Peter and took a bite out of her toast. 

“So, uh, Spidey,” she started, before Peter interrupted her.

“Sorry, sorry, lemme just do something first,” he apologized, before turning to Sam with a slight upturn of his lips. “Hey Sam, my name is Peter, so go nuts.” Peter turned back to Wanda when Sam choked on his food. Natasha smirked, and Wanda let out a chuckle. “You may go on.”

“Well,  _ Peter,” _ she began once more, glancing at the still recovering Sam, “I was just wondering if you wanted to do something with me in a little while.”

At Peter’s small smile, Nat remembered how Peter had said he had wanted to hang out with the young woman later. It seemed that Wanda read his mind. Not legitimately, of course. 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, swallowing his last piece of toast. 

She shrugged. “Nothing special. You’ll see.”

Peter shook his head, a slight smile teasing his lips. “Well damn, you mysterious bitch. I guess I will.”

Nat finished off her last piece of bacon as she observed the two. They seemed to be getting along nicely. She knew that Wanda had always felt a bit out of place here because of her age, seeing as she was the youngest of the team. It was why she quickly formed a bond with Harley when the teen moved here, and it was probably why she was doing the same with Peter. It was nice to see the young woman get along with someone so easily, besides Vision. 

Natasha allowed herself to block out their conversation as she struck one up with Sam. They chatted about their plans for the day: Sam wanted a chill day, so he planned on playing more games with Clint, and to maybe work on a few poems. He always said it was one of his coping mechanisms, seeing as it allowed him to calm down and just write whatever he pleased; Nat could see the appeal. For her own day, she wanted to do a yoga routine after breakfast, and she could probably do a deep cleaning of her weapons. It hadn’t been done in a while, and she could easily say it was therapeutic for her as well. The methodical cleaning of the mechanisms brought her comfort, giving her something stable to be used to. 

Their conversation came to a halt when Peter reached between them for their empty plates. He stacked them onto what must have been his and Wanda’s plates before grabbing the larger plates in the center. He balanced those on his forearms like a waiter. 

“We could have gotten those,” she told him, moving to get up to help him. 

He shook his head. “Nah, Sam cooked and you got them out, so I’ll clean them.”

She glanced at Wanda, who was out of her seat and leaning on the counter. The younger woman just shook her head, signalling that Natasha should just let Peter take care of it. Nat nodded at Peter as he turned to begin washing the dishes in the sink. 

Sam’s eyebrows knit together, and he opened his mouth to presumably ask Natasha about Peter’s insistence of washing them himself. 

“It’s just what he likes, I guess,” she explained before the man could ask. 

“I think it’s calming,” he called without looking at them. “Plus, I can’t remember the last time I had a working dishwasher, so I’m just used to washing them. I don’t see why you guys are so bothered by it.”

Sam looked at the boy’s turned back. “It’s not that we’re  _ bothered  _ by it, it just seems a bit odd seeing as there’s a dishwasher right there.”

Peter sighed, and latched onto the handle of the dishwasher. He quietly placed all of the plates on the racks, and slottled the silverware into their places. 

“Your wish is my command,” he said with a bow, and he closed the dishwasher. 

“Thanks, Peter,” she called to him as he started to walk with Wanda to the elevator.

“Don’t mention it.”

-

“So,” Peter said as the elevator doors closed, “wanna tell me what we’re gonna do?”

“Alright, jeez. Mr. Impatient,” Wanda mocked. “I was just wondering if you wanted to, maybe, let me teach you Ukrainian? I don’t know, no one else here but Vision knows it, and if you were interested, you could learn so we could chat in it.”

Peter noticed that she had a habit of constantly explaining her reasoning for her actions, like she was afraid someone would call her out on her ideas or suggestions. He wanted to help her feel a bit more comfortable.

“Oh boy, I feel like I should be honored you want to teach me,” he grinned. “That would be fun. I like picking up new languages.”

Wanda had a relieved look on her face as they exited the elevator on their floor. “Oh yeah, you know sign language too. Do you know anything else?”

“Oh, man.” He held out his hand and began to count on his fingers. “So there’s English and ASL. I learned ASL with MJ, you’ve seen her.” A wince crossed Wanda’s features, but Peter chose to ignore it. “Uh, then there’s Italian, ‘cause my mom, my aunt, and my uncle all had Italian blood. I learned Spanish in school, and Russian on my own ‘cause I wanted a challenge. There’s also German, and I learned that, like, back in January. Oh! And I know some braille ‘cause my blind friend is a bitch. Not really though, he knows I like to learn.”

“Holy fuck,” Wanda muttered. “That’s a lot. You’re fluent in all of those?”

“All except for braille, learning that one is a bit tough. But like, Italian rivals English as my mother tongue, ‘cause I was learning both of them at the same time.”

“Well then,” Wanda said as she opened the door to her room. “This’ll be easier than I thought. I was gonna teach Harley, but he has a hard time picking up languages, and I guess Ukrainian isn’t an amazing one to start with. But that’s alright, because now it’ll just- Peter? Don’t you wanna come in?”

Peter’s feet were planted at the entrance of her room, all of his instincts telling him he wasn't allowed to go in there. Going in other people’s rooms was bad, Richard taught him that. Of course, Richard was allowed to go in Peter’s room whenever he liked. But there was no entering Richard’s room. Peter didn’t want Wanda to get mad at him for going into her room. It’s her space. He shouldn’t be allowed in there. 

“Peter?” 

He kept his head down. “Am I allowed to come in?” Permission. He wouldn’t get punished if he had permission.

“Of course. I thought that was kinda implied.”

Peter let out the breath he was holding. “Right. Sorry. Just didn’t wanna invade.” He looked up at her and noticed the concerned quirk in her eyebrows. “Sorry.”

She adjusted her face, a soft smile taking over her features. “No need to apologize. You were just being polite. You can come in my room whenever, even if the door is closed, as long as you knock first.”

“Thanks,” he said as he stepped into her room. He looked around, taking the room in. She had a bathroom off to the side like he did. Her bed had maroon-colored sheets on them, and it was made. There was a stack of magazines on the floor next to the bed. Her desk had stationery supplies and a pile of unopened letters. There were boxes on shelves in the corner of the room, but they were closed and unlabeled. There was a large bulletin board hanging above her desk, and Peter took in the items hung up on it: pictures of her and the team, even more pictures of her and Vision, what looked like a meal receipt, movie tickets, and a piece of unrecognizable fabric. “Nice room.”

“Glad you like it,” she called from where she was pulling out a box from one of the shelves. She walked over to sit on the bed, then patted a spot in front of her. He climbed onto her bed as he opened the box. 

She pulled a small whiteboard out of the box, along with markers and two books. The titles of the books looked to be in Russian, but altered enough that it looked pretty jumbled. Ukrainian. That made sense, given the context of what he was about to do with Wanda.

“This is what I used when I tried to teach Harley Ukrainian,” she explained. “It’s a process of being able to write, speak, read, and listen. I’ll be your example for listening and speaking, the whiteboard is for writing, and the books provide some more advanced reading examples. But I can also just pull sentences from it and pick those apart with you. Sound good?”

He nodded, eyes trained on the books. “Don't Russian and Ukrainian have, like,  _ almost  _ the same alphabets? I’m pretty sure there’s only a few differences.”

“Yeah, they’re both Slavic languages, so there’s a lot of similarities. That’ll make it easier for you to learn, since you apparently know Russian, you overachiever. But they’re still different languages. Like, you know how English and German are both Germanic languages? Learning Ukrainian while knowing Russian will be a bit like learning German while knowing English.”

Peter neglected to mention that his German lessons took place during a four week stay at a HYDRA facility, so his learning Ukrainian may go a bit smoother. They may have fucked him up a bit, but at least they allowed him to broaden knowledge of language. Probably the only plus, though. He would rate his stay a 0.5/10 on TripAdvisor, wouldn’t recommend.

“Get fucked, Harley,” he muttered, to which Wanda gave a snort. “Gonna learn a freaking language. Stupid monolingual Southerner.”

“You show him, Peter,” she said with a grin as she picked up the board and marker. “Ready for your first lesson?”

“Oh, goody, I'm back in school. Have at it, Professor Maximoff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “O слава богу” means "Oh thank god"  
> do i know what hawkeye's name refers to? yes. will i ever stop making fun of it? absolutely not. also peter's dishwashing habits aren't anything important, just a manifestation of his guilt  
> comments and kudos appreciated <3


	11. Haha Strong Peter Go Brrr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20k hits in 2 months holy shit- ty guys for the love <3  
> TWs: average mention of Peter's food issues, the tiniest mention of r*pists.

“No, but see - don’t interrupt, Wanda, this is important - what I’m _saying_ is that the International Astronomical Union is just a group of _cowards.”_

Wanda was full-on laughing at this point. “I just don’t see why you care this much!”

“They just stripped away Pluto’s planetary status for _no reason!”_ Peter exclaimed, gesturing wildly up at the ceiling. He was splayed out on Wanda’s bed, with the young woman sitting next to his legs with her ankles crossed. She rested her knee on his thigh. It felt nice. Their Ukrainian-learning materials laid discarded on the ground. The lesson had gone well, but after a point, their conversation drifted away from the topic of language. And that’s how they ended up here, with Peter ranting about the planetary status of Pluto to an extremely amused Wanda.

“Well, they must have had a reason if they were able to do it,” Wanda commented.

“It’s because their definition of a planet is _bullshit!_ It’s too fucking narrow, Wanda. They were like, ‘Blah blah, Pluto can’t clear its zone, so it can’t be a planet, blah blah blah’, but guess _what?_ It’s impossible to clear a zone within a planet’s orbit. No planet in our solar system can satisfy the zone-clearing regulation since new small bodies are constantly injected into planet-crossing orbits. It’s not like everything that enters Earth’s orbit is thrown out immediately! If the IAU definition of a planet is to be taken seriously, then technically, no planet in our solar system is actually a planet.” Peter hadn’t been able to rant like this in a while, can you tell?

“Peter, buddy, pal, my friend, I really need you to understand that I can’t comprehend a word you’re saying,” Wanda sighed, exasperation lacing her voice. Peter felt a twinge of worry at her words, but it dissipated when he lifted his head to see the relaxed grin on her face and the twinkle of mirth in her eyes.

“Sucks to be you, I guess,” he muttered, calming down from his rage rant. “What time is it?”

FRIDAY answered before Wanda. “It is 3:42. I would like to remind Ms. Maximoff that she has training in the main gym at 4:00.”

“Make that two of us,” Peter grunted as he pulled himself up. 

Wanda hopped off her bed and walked over to her closet. “You’re coming to training?” She pulled out a tank top and a pair of leggings. 

“Yeah, Clint wanted me to come. I’ll just, uh, wait in the hall, yeah?”

“I’d invite you to stay, but Mama didn’t raise no cheater.” She tossed her hair over shoulder and winked. 

“Oh darling, am I not worth it?” he asked, lifting his hand to rest over his heart. 

“Don’t let Vision hear you say that, you skank!” Wanda called out as he swung open the door and rushed out.

He chuckled as he leaned against the wall just outside her door. He really enjoyed thinking about her wanting to teach him Ukrainian. He felt like he was being quietly let into her world, like she felt it was safe to open up to him. That’s what friends were supposed to do, right? Open up to each other? Peter might have to try that sometime. But maybe not to Wanda - she had seen enough of his issues already.

Her door swung open once more, and she stepped out. When she laid eyes on him, her eyebrows knit together.

“You’re not gonna change?”

Peter looked down at his long sleeves and sweatpants. “Nah. I get cold easily.” He got warm easily, too, but he swung around in a full-body suit every night. He was used to being covered while exercising. He didn’t want to just show off his scars in front of the entire team right away.

“Whatever you say,” Wanda shrugged, before starting down the hallway. Peter followed her as she made the turn into the kitchen. She grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and tossed it at Peter, who caught it with ease. She took one for herself and shut the door with her foot. “We ready?”

“Been ready, loser,” he nodded, turning to walk to the elevator.

“You shut your mouth,” she mumbled, and Peter caught a glimpse of a red glow twirling in her hands. 

“What are you gonna do, f- oh _shit!”_ Wanda launched herself into the air, flying past him quickly and landing in the waiting elevator. The moment she left the ground, Peter’s ears were met with a oh-so faint sound of wind chimes. He ignored the sound of Wanda’s laughter, and looked around for a source. No wind chimes in sight. 

“Peter?” Wanda called. “Oh my god, did I scare you? I wasn’t gonna hurt you, I thought you would know. I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, don’t worry about that,” he dismissed. He turned towards her again and saw that she was walking his way. “Wanda, would you mind flying over here instead? I wanna test something.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, but shrugged anyway. Once again, a red glow bounced around her body, and she hovered towards him. The wind chimes were back. She was about to land in front of him, but he motioned for her to stay where she was. He stepped closer, and the chimes got louder. 

“Is something wrong?”

“No, but I… I think your magic has a sound?” 

“My magic has a sound?” she bewilderedly asked.

“That’s what I said, yeah. Uh, stop flying for a sec?” She did. The chimes stopped. “Yeah. It’s you. It’s like… wind chimes clanking together. But like, the small and dainty kind.”

“Is it loud?” She held up her hand, examining the ball of red it carried. 

“No, it just surprised me.” He closed his eyes, focusing more on the sound. It didn’t grate against his ears, either. It was a pleasant sound, reminding him of spring and a gentle wind blowing past him on nice afternoons. “I’m even more surprised that you can’t hear it. Guess my hearing’s back.”

When he opened his eyes once more, he was greeted with a soft smile from Wanda. “Cool,” she breathed. 

This time, they walked to the elevator together, ignoring the fact that they were probably going to be slightly late to training. The doors shut, and Peter was met once more with the muted silence of the elevator. Except now, he picked up on more sounds to keep him company. There were the soft whirrs of the elevator’s mechanics and the quiet static of what he assumed to be FRIDAY’s speakers. But then he picked up on a comforting sound he hadn’t heard in a hot sec. A heartbeat. A smile tugged at Peter’s lips with the realization that he could now hear Wanda’s heartbeat. The steady _thump thump thump_ of a familiar person’s heartbeat was always soothing to him. Sometimes he _hated_ his enhanced senses; there was no doubt that they caused plenty of issues. But after experiencing the loss of them, he was looking forward to being at top functionality once more. Heartbeats were a consistent comfort he had missed. 

The elevator dinged, and they stepped out directly into what Peter assumed was the “main gym”. He looked around, noticing that most of the Avengers were already there. Scratch that, all of them were. Peter was faced with the scene of the most powerful people in New York taking turns stretching each other. They all turned to face him, and a smile lit up Clint’s face from where he was helping Sam stretch his arm. 

“Spidey! Welcome to Avengers training!” he yelled. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” Wanda scoffed as she made her way to Natasha, Peter trailing after her. 

As soon as they reached the spy, Natasha turned to him. “When was the last time you ate?” she demanded.

Natasha kept bringing that up. She seemed slightly obsessed with what he was eating for breakfast, but maybe Peter was reading into their interactions too much. What was she, concerned? Loser. He was perfectly fine, thank you very much. He was eating more than he ever did on the streets, yet the woman still wanted to make sure he “got enough”. Sure, his appetite was growing now that he was getting used to eating more, but he _shouldn’t_ be getting used to eating more. Eventually, he’d have to return to his routine of having no routine for eating whatsoever, so he didn’t need to get accustomed to feeling full. Nonetheless, there was no way he could turn down a meal when he didn’t know when his next one would come. So when Wanda suggested they take a lunch break, he went along with it. 

“Uh, probably around 12? Right, Wanda?” She nodded. “Yeah, 12.”

Natasha pulled a package out of her legging pockets and tossed it at Peter. He reached up to catch it and saw that it was some type of protein bar. He raised an eyebrow at her, but opened it anyway.

“Bruce managed to manufacture a bar meant for Steve and Bucky’s metabolisms, so that should have an effect on you,” she explained. 

“Thanks,” he nodded, taking a bite out of the bar. 

“Don’t you need tennis shoes or something?” Natasha asked, looking pointedly at his bare feet.

Before Peter could respond, Wanda snorted. “Did you walk all the way here without shoes on?”

He shrugged. “What can I say, I’m not a sock kinda guy. Plus, it feels more natural without shoes on. I can somehow still stick to shit through layers, but I still think it works better if I’m barefoot.”

“If you say so,” Natasha said with another glance at his feet. 

“So do you guys have a routine or anything? Or can I just do whatever.” He was a bit unclear on what “Avengers training” entailed. Trust exercises or some shit?

Rogers walked over to them, apparently sensing that he had an opportunity to take a leadership role. “We start out with stretching, then the team has the opportunity to split up and work on their individual goals. Like today, I’ll be sparring with Buck. Clint and Sam will probably team up, Bruce’ll do yoga as usual, and I think Nat’s going to work on cardio, right?” At her affirmation, he went on. “So really, you can do whatever.”

“It’s leg day for me, babey!” Stark yelled from a squat position. 

“You listening in on our conversation?” Peter replied, not looking at the man.

“What can I say, Capsicle’s a pretty loud dude.” 

“Alrighty then,” Peter nodded, putting the bar wrapper in his pocket. “So I guess I’ll do a quick stretch?” He took a few steps away and proceeded to throw his torso backwards so he could wrap his arms around his legs from the back.

“Woah, hey, you fucking contortionist,” Wanda laughed, walking up to him. “Can I see if you can go further?” she asked, and she moved her hand down to his line of sight so he could see what she was suggesting.

“Go ahead,” he allowed, and her hand moved to lay on his back. He resisted a shiver at the contact - he needed to get better at hiding his reactions to people touching him, positive or not. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You could hurt yourself,” Natasha commented. 

“It’s fine, my bones are stretchy.” Wanda applied pressure to his position, and Peter slowly began to thread his upper body through his opened legs.

“And this is where I exit the conversation,” Rogers muttered, and Peter heard the man make his way back to Bucky. “His ‘bones are stretchy.’ What the hell.”

Natasha walked to his other side and knelt down to meet his eyes. “Peter, I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that a bit.”

“So like, you know the name Spider-Man? Not for nothing.” Wanda didn’t ease up on her maneuvering of his position, and he was able to thread his arms through his legs to wrap around them from the front. “Spiders don’t have bones, we know this. Well, since I’m not _completely_ spider, I still have bones. But my DNA is fucked up enough that even though my bones are, like, super strong, they’re, uh. Bendy.” That’s the way he thought about it, at least. It made sense in his mind that the spider bite would affect more underlying DNA as well as his strength, senses, and sticking ability.

“Right.” Natasha stood back up and returned to her stretching mat. “That’s fucked.”

Wanda released her hold on him as he laughed, “Oh trust me, I know.” He unwound his body in one fluid motion, straightening with ease. 

“For the moment,” Wanda started as she took a step away, “I’ll just focus on how cool that is rather than the creepy factor.”

“Good choice,” he nodded, and started to walk over to the racks of weights against the wall. “Hey, what’s the heaviest weight you guys have?”

Peter heard Stark’s knees crack as the man jumped up to join Peter at the weight rack. As the man walked over, he swooped down to grab hold of a full water bottle resting near his mat. He came to a stop next to Peter and took a swig.

“Traditional weights? Our heaviest allows for 1500 pounds. That’s just for the old men over there, though,” Stark explained. He eyed Peter, then advised, “It’d probably be a good idea to start out lower than that.”

Internally, Peter was just about dying from laughter. This guy thinks 1500 will be too much for him? The _fuck?_

Peter raised an eyebrow and pointed to the large weight that read _0.75 tons._ “That’s the 1500, yeah?” Stark’s eyebrow quirked, but he nodded. Peter reached for it, and the man took a step back. 

“Kid, I don’t think you should do that without a spotter, it might-”

Peter lifted up the weight with ease, his mouth set in a straight line. Stark looked on as Peter took a small step away and tossed the weight from his right hand to his left. The weight was minimal to Peter - he knew he could lift at _least_ 20 tons without exerting himself too much. Armored cars were heavier than they looked. Buildings were about as heavy as they looked, but he’d grown a lot stronger since that first warehouse a couple years ago. Peter had a love-hate relationship with people underestimating him. On one hand, they were _underestimating him;_ it was annoying. But on the other hand, Peter loved to see their faces when he easily proved them wrong.

Peter allowed a sly grin to cross his face as he lightly set the weight down. “Don’t call me kid.”

Stark cleared his throat. “Right. Yeah, okay. Fri? Could you get MACHO up from the lab?”

“I’m guessing that MACHO stands for something,” Peter bemusedly commented. Man loved his acronyms.

A giddy smile unfolded on Stark’s face. “Machinery Aptly Constructed to Help Overachievers.” 

“Right,” Peter sighed. Man loved his acronyms.

The elevator door dinged, and a few of the others in the room turned to look at who was arriving. A boxy machine rolled out, pretty unassuming. There was a control panel on it, but was otherwise plain. Behind the robot, trailed a confused looking Harley. Oh. School must have ended a while ago. 

“Why’d MACHO join me in the elevator?” Harley asked, looking up at his teammates, who had paused their exercises. “Did Thor stop by today?” 

“Shoo, not even a greeting,” Stark whistled. Harley’s eyes drifted over to the man, and they widened slightly when he noticed Peter. “Nah, apparently Bug-Man is an Overachiever.”

Rogers walked over to them, with Bucky trailing him, wiping sweat from his brow. “Really? How much more does he need?”

“Well, he decided to give me a heart attack by tossing the 1500 pound weight around, so I guess we’ll see,” Stark said as he approached the now resting machine. Whistles chorused through the gym as the others made their approach to surround Peter and the robot.

Peter ticked his head towards Harley and asked, “Why’d you ask if Thor was here?”

“The dude can lift at least 100 tons, seein’ as he’s the Asgardian God of Strength ‘n all, so Tony made this bot for him to mess around with on training days,” Harley explained. “He’s usually the only one to use it, but sometimes Steve and Bucky use it for the lower settings.”

“I couldn’t quite get it to 100 tons, but I’m working on it,” Stark told them. “100 tons is, like- it’s, uh. Anyone know a good reference for how much 100 tons is?”

“Cloud Gate,” Natasha suggested.

“The fuck is that?” Sam muttered, and everyone ignored Rogers’s comment on his language.

“Chicago Bean,” Peter told him. “Now I’ve just got the mental image of Thor picking up the Bean and just launching it at a baddie.”

While the team assumedly pondered the situation, Stark jumped in once more. “Anyway, it’s up to 75 tons right now. You can control the weight using the control pad on the front, and the weight of the robot will adjust.” 

Peter crouched down to punch in his starting weight. He could hear mechanisms shifting within the robot, and Peter watched as the shape of the robot shifted to form a rod of about three feet in length. Clint leaned over his shoulder to see what weight he set it to, and inhaled sharply. 

“Dude, 10,000 pounds? There _are_ lower levels, y’know,” he commented.

Peter tilted his head up at him so the man could clearly see his eye roll. “That’s how much an average ambulance weighs, idiot. It’s not that much.” He demonstrated this fact when he bent down to lift up the robot. It was definitely heavier than the 1500 pound weight (duh), but still on the lower end of Peter’s capacity.

Sam turned away from the group, walking back to his sparring mat. “It’s too early for this shit.”

“It’s 4:30, dumbass,” Bucky mocked, but he left as well once Peter gently put the weight back down. He switched to walking backwards as he told Peter, “Tell me what number you end up at!”

From there, each member of the team returned back to their original spots. Rogers went to join Bucky after commenting on Peter’s impressive strength. Natasha held out her hand towards Peter with a question in her eyes, and despite not knowing fully what she would do, he nodded. She simply placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a pat before walking away. Clint groaned as Peter upped the weight to 10 tons and left to rejoin Sam. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Wanda advised as she and Bruce left to resume their yoga routine.

“What she said,” Stark said, waving in Wanda’s direction.

Then it was just him and Harley, who watched as Peter did a few reps with the increased weight. It put strain on his muscles now, but not nearly enough to prevent Peter from moving up. As he adjusted the weight once more, Harley stepped away.

“I’m gonna acquire a set of those normal people weights. Alright if I join you?” he asked.

“‘Course. Don’t hurt yourself,” Peter said with a wink.

Harley rolled his eyes, but Peter took note of the slight red tinting his cheeks as he walked to the rack. The other teen hadn’t even begun exercising yet. Why the _fuck_ did he blush so much? Maybe Harley just had rosacea and Peter didn’t know.

Peter switched the weight to 20 tons as Harley came back with a set of 60 pound dumbbells. The other teen had also removed the flannel he had on to reveal a short-sleeved shirt. Which meant his arms were on display. At that moment, Peter realized he hadn’t seen Harley without some form of long sleeves or armor. Peter didn’t know if 60 pounds was a lot for the average athletic teen, but it was enough to give Harley some, uh, _impressive_ muscles. Harley began his reps and Peter averted his eyes down to his own weight because Harley did _not_ need to see the blush Peter felt rise to his cheeks. It shouldn’t even be there. What the fuck. Alright. Chill Peter, Harley’s just got some muscles. He lives with the Avengers, of course he has muscles. No need to fucking freak out about it. Jesus. Alright. Ignore, ignoring, ignored.

At 20 tons, Peter was definitely feeling it. No, it didn’t _hurt,_ but in a casual setting like this, it was probably near the upper range of his strength. In an actual dangerous scenario, where adrenaline was the only thing pumping through his veins? He could definitely go higher. For now though, since he was training (and _not_ catching glances of Harley’s arms, mind you), he decided to continue his reps in one ton increments. Sweat formed on his back at the 22 ton mark, and once he reached 30, he figured he could call it a day. He was still trying to restore his health, so he bet that 30 wasn’t his cap. He set down the weight, and reset the robot to its original form. Harley was just about finishing his reps as well, and as Peter looked around the gym, he could see that some of the team were starting to tire out. Harley joined him as he picked up his water bottle and walked over to the sparring mat Rogers and Bucky were occupying. They had concluded their fight, sweat dripping off their noses as they hydrated themselves.

Bucky caught sight of them, and tipped his head at Peter. “How much didya lift?”

“Stopped at 30,” he shrugged, lifting his bottle to take a swig. He heard Harley’s breath catch in his throat at the same time the two men’s eyebrows shot up.

“30 thousand?” Rogers asked.

Peter struggled to keep his face neutral as he shook his head. “30 tons.”

Suddenly Wanda popped up next to him with a gasp. “Did I hear you say 30 _tons?”_

Bruce followed her, his eyebrows raised. “Is that your max?”

“Nah,” Peter shook his head. “But I can test my max some other time.” He wanted it to be an accurate type of thing, so maybe if he stays at the tower for long enough, he’ll be able to test himself at full strength.

Rogers tilted his head at Peter, seemingly working something out in his head. “So you have massive amounts of strength, and you can fight.”

“Look at that, he connected the dots!” Peter joked. “What, you thought it was luck every time I kicked your ass?”

A look crossed Rogers’s face that let Peter know that the man definitely thought it was just luck. “Well, no,” he sheepishly replied. “But I just have a quick question. The worst I’ve gotten from you was a few bruises, maybe a cracked rib. Why?”

“Gotta stay true to my beliefs, Cap’n,” Peter explained. “Can’t hurt the good guys, even when they’re hurting me. Really don’t rough up the baddies much, either.” The exceptions being rapists. He accidentally punched them harder than usual. Oops.

“Oh man, we’re idiotic,” Rogers groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Sorry for the past year.”

Peter nudged Wanda with a smile. “Got an apology out of Mr. America! Would ya look at that.” He smiled at the man when he removed his hand. “It’s okay - I mean, it’s _not_ okay, you fuckers - but I digress. I appreciate your realization and the apology.” 

Wanda nodded. “In the showbiz, we call that ‘character development.’”

Peter stepped closer to the captain. “Call me Peter.” Then he turned to Wanda and whispered, “We gotta fucking zoom, come on,” as Rogers’s eyes widened and he tried to stammer out a response. Wanda giggled as they walked briskly to the elevator. 

“Are you doing that with _everyone?”_ Wanda asked. 

“Anyone I deem to be not an asshole,” Peter affirmed. “It’s fun. It’s like I’ve got a little cult.”

“Are we the only ones in it?”

“Just in the Avengers chapter. Four other people know.”

She tilted her head. “Who? If you don’t mind my asking.”

He began to count on his fingers. “A friend of mine that moved away, MJ, and these two random guys I hang out with sometimes.” Then he was slammed with the reminder that he hadn’t talked to Matt in days. Fuck. “Fuck.”

“What?” she asked, concerned. 

“Those random guys? I was supposed to meet with one of them yesterday, but I got kidnapped before I could.” He inhaled sharply. “Oh my god, what if he’s mad? Or worse, _worried?”_

“You could call them?”

He shoved his fingers through his hair as the elevator doors opened on their floor. “No, can’t. Ditched my phone a while ago.”

“God, you can be an idiot sometimes,” she sighed. “Stark _makes phones.”_

“I can’t just ask for a phone!” _You don’t deserve it, it’s a luxury you can’t have, someone can track you, you can’t have a phone, you can’t ask for that, you can’t ask for anything._

“Peter, he literally wouldn’t care. He’s a billionaire.”

Peter shook out his hands, trying to get himself to listen to her reasoning. It didn’t work. “Wanda, I just can’t. Mr. Stark wouldn’t want to anyway.”

“Then just use mine,” she shrugged. 

“That’s your phone! Yours. Can’t use one of your belongings.”

“I’m offering. I think you’re making this harder than it has to be.”

He sighed, feeling slightly bad for dragging this out. “A phone is a big thing to me. It’s expensive and overall just-” They both turned as the elevator sounded its arrival.

Harley walked out, and caught up with them on their walk down the hall. He held out a box to Peter.

“Tony wanted to give this to you, but you left right before he was gonna talk to you,” he explained. 

“Oh my god, is that a phone?” Wanda excitedly asked. “Please tell me that’s a phone so I can beat Peter’s ass.”

Peter took the box and opened it. It was a phone. 

“The timing is immaculate,” Wanda grinned as she side-stepped Peter to stand in front of him. 

“Are you sure?” he asked Harley. Why would Stark give him a phone?

Harley raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? He said that he figured you didn’t have a Stark Phone and that anyone who doesn't have one is a ‘complete loser.’” Wanda cackled. 

“Shut up,” Peter muttered. “Well. Guess this means I’m making a call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GANG LET'S TALK ABT PETER'S STRENGTH! so in the mcu, he's placed in the super-human tier of strength, which is anywhere from 800 pounds to 25 tons. besides that, the mentions of his strength in the comics are so goddamn inconsistent like you wouldn't believe. some say 25000 pounds, some say 25 tons, another suggests at least 40 tons, and there's even an example of him lifting close to 300 tons. it's fucking wild, and for that reason i have decided to make him really strong because that's the kind of peter i'm writing. it could be natural, or it could be bc of hydra. who knows, not me. comments and kudos appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> so if you couldn't tell, that was my first attempt at a fanfic. epic. I'll be uploading whenever I can, but hopefully the next chapter will come soon! comments and kudos are appreciated <3


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